Shakespearean  and 
Other  Papers 


JOHN    BELL    HENNEMAN 


Shakespearean  and 
Other  Papers 


Shakespearean  and 
Other  Papers 


By 
JOHN  BELL  HENNEMAN 

Late  Professor  of  English  in  the  University  of  the  South; 
Late  Editor  of  The  Scwanee  Review 


The   University    Press   of 

Sewanee  Tennessee 

m  c  m  x  I 


Copyright,  191  i, 
By  Mrs.  J.  B.  Henneman. 


•  •  • . 


•  ••  **•}•♦  ♦£  5     •    « ■ 


Preface 

THIS  Preface  is  at  once  a  labor  of  love  and  the  saddest  liter- 
ary task  I  ever  undertook.  The  writer  of  the  papers  here 
collected  was  one  of  my  dearest  friends,  one  of  the  most  pure 
and  loyal  characters  I  ever  knew,  one  of  the  most  devoted  schol- 
ars and  sincere  lovers  of  literature  with  whom  it  was  ever  my 
privilege  to  work.  At  the  time  of  his  unobtrusively  tragical 
and  heroic  death  our  friendship  had  lasted  for  twenty-six  years, 
and  for  fifteen  of  them  had  been  peculiarly  close.  We  were 
collegemates  and  then  fellow-teachers  in  Tennessee;  then  he 
took  the  chair  I  had  filled  at  Sewanee  and  carried  on  The 
Sewanee  Review,  to  which  he  had  been  a  sturdy  prop  from  its 
inception.  After  that  we  were  closely  associated  in  editing 
Shakespeare  and  Thackeray,  so  that  I  think  I  may  fairly  say 
that  it  would  be  difficult  for  one  man  to  know  another  better 
than  I  knew  John  Henneman.  It  would  be  more  difficult  to 
make  me  believe  that  a  finer  spirit  than  his  ever  animated  a 
human  body.  Peace  to  his  ashes!  It  is  obvious  that  I  cannot 
write  of  his  essays  in  the  capacity  of  an  impartial  critic. 

I  write  of  them  only  as  one  of  the  friends  that  suggested  the 
preparation  of  this  volume.  When  he  came  back  from  Germany 
and  went  to  Hampden-Sidney  to  teach,  I  found  that  his  interest 
was  quite  as  much  engaged  by  the  history  of  the  South  as  it  was 
by  English  philology  and  literature,  the  studies  he  had  chiefly 
pursued  abroad.  Shortly  afterwards  I  wrote  a  biography  of  the 
South  Carolina  novelist,  William  Gilmore  Simms,  which  brought 
down  on  my  head  a  storm  of  unexpected  denunciation.  One  of  my 
stoutest  defenders  was  John  Henneman,  despite  the  fact  that  he 
was  more  conservative  on  many  matters  than  I  had  been,  and 
although  he  privately  found  fault  with  me  for  expressions,  in 
which,  doubtless,  I  had  not  been  overtactful.     He  stood,  how- 


273356 


iv  PREFACE 

ever,  for  the  two  main  things  the  book  stood  for,  the  right  of  free 
speech  with  regard  to  Southern  affairs  and  the  necessity  for 
impartial,  original  research  in  Southern  history.  His  support, 
when  other  professors  of  English  were  suggesting  in  the  news- 
papers that  I  should  be  incontinently  turned  out  of  my  chair, 
naturally  brought  us  closer  together,  and,  I  may  add,  cemented 
our  friendship  with  that  other  true  Southerner  and  most  loyal 
son  of  Sewanee,  Benjamin  Lawton  Wiggins,  late  Vice-Chan- 
cellor of  the  University,  who  so  soon  followed  Henneman  to  the 
grave,  both  of  them  drawing  from  my  lips  more  than  once  what 
I  have  long  thought  to  be  the  saddest  and  most  pathetic  of 
ejaculations,  the  Horatian 

"Quis  desiderio  sit  pudor  aut  modus 
Tam  cari  capitis?" 

But  to  return  —  lest  I  find  myself  launched  into  another  of 
Horace's  odes,  the  "  Eheu  fugaces  " — when  I  founded  with 
Wiggins  The  Sewanee  Review,  shortly  after  the  appearance  of 
the  volume  on  Simms,  it  was  to  Henneman  that  I  chiefly  turned 
for  articles  on  Southern  history  and  literature,  particularly  for 
such  as  required  that  patient  labor  he  was  always  so  ready  to 
give  to  every  task  he  deemed  worthy  of  it.  Some  of  the  papers 
in  this  volume  date  from  the  period  of  his  interest  in  the  Review 
as  a  contributor,  others  from  the  period  of  his  editorship,  and 
all  his  Southern  studies,  including  his  work  upon  a  volume  in 
the  series  known  as  "The  South  in  the  Building  of  the  Nation," 
represent  a  patriotism  which  had  no  difficulty  in  being  as  loyal 
to  the  nation  as  it  was  to  the  section.  In  this  particular  I  know 
of  no  better  exemplar  that  our  younger  students  of  Southern 
history  can  set  before  themselves  than  Professor  Henneman,  de- 
spite the  facts  that  he  was  primarily  a  teacher  of  literature  and 
that  he  was  probably  best  known  for  his  admirable  work  in 
maintaining  high  academic  standards  in  Southern  colleges. 
From  him  students  of  our  .Southern  history  can  learn  to  be 
loyal  without  being  in  the  least  reactionary. 


PREFACE  t 

But  it  is  not  alone  the  Southern  papers  in  this  volume  that 
truly  represent  their  author.  He  was  Southern  to  the  core,  but 
I  have  never  known  a  man  more  awake  to  the  advantages  of 
every  sort  of  foreign  contribution  to  culture.  The  paper  on  the 
novels  of  the  Hungarian  Jdkai  represents  this  interest  in  for- 
eign literatures,  but  it  represents  to  a  very  inadequate  degree 
Henneman's  extraordinary  open-mindedness,  his  sympathy  with 
the  good  and  beautiful  wherever  he  found  it,  his  large  humanity. 
He  was  as  capable  of  wide  imaginative  sympathy  as  he  was  of 
minute,  painstaking  evaluation.  More  truly  than  most  men  he 
could  say  that  nothing  human  was  alien  to  him,  and  he  displayed 
this  catholicity  of  spirit  abroad  when  on  his  travels  and  at  home 
in  his  teaching  and  writing. 

In  what  is  perhaps  the  most  important  group  of  these  papers, 
the  Shakespearean  studies,  I  have  no  right  to  claim  the  sort  of 
spiritual  partnership  I  am  proud  to  claim  in  the  case  of  the 
Southern  papers.  Henneman  was  from  the  beginning  a  much 
more  devoted  Shakespearean  than  I  have  ever  been,  and,  although 
we  were  for  years  associated  in  a  revision  of  Grant  White's 
edition  of  Shakespeare,  which  is  soon  to  appear,  I  suppose 
there  is  no  other  subject  discussed  by  us  on  which  each  re- 
mained so  unaffected  by  the  other  as  the  work  of  the  world's 
greatest  dramatist.  I  always  thought  him  a  Shakespearolater ; 
he  always  thought  me  a  little  daft  on  Milton,  and,  perhaps,  on 
Homer.  So  I  left  to  him  much  of  the  work  on  the  chronology 
and  sources  of  the  plays  and  a  good  deal  of  the  minuter  textual 
criticism,  and  he,  on  his  part,  relied  on  my  general  editorial 
judgment  with  regard  to  what  to  use  and  what  to  discard  of  the 
scholarly  material  he  had  gathered.  It  has  long  seemed  to  me 
that  he  was  particularly  strong  in  his  comprehension  of  the 
problems  underlying  the  early  history  plays,  and  that  in  his 
more  general  treatment  of  Shakespeare  he  displayed  a  loyal 
human  appreciation  of  the  wonderful  human  beings  Shake- 
speare's genius  gave  to  the  world.     His  veneration  for  Shake- 


vi  PREFACE 

speare  was  profound,  and  that  was  where  we  differed,  I  giving 
my  veneration  to  the  writer  I  deemed  the  loftier  soul  and  the 
more  perfect  artist,  Milton,  and  to  the  most  serenely  consummate 
and  satisfying  of  all  the  works  of  art  of  which  I  have  any  know- 
ledge, the  poems  of  Homer.  Yet  I  think  we  loved  each  other 
all  the  more  for  this  divergence  of  tastes;  for  each  respected  the 
other's  choice,  and  respect  is  a  necessary  ingredient  of  the 
highest  love.  But  ah!  those  golden  days  and  nights  of  talk 
about  the  immortals  are  over.  His  is  the  "domus  exilis  Plu- 
tonia;"  mine,  a  world  made  sad  by  his  absence.  Again,  peace 
to  his  ashes;  and  sympathetic  readers  for  these  essays,  products 
of  the  sincere  labors  of  a  noble  man. 

W.  P.  Trent. 

Neuchatel, 

July  13,  1911. 


Biographical  Sketch 

JOHN  BELL  HENNEMAN  was  born  at  Spartanburg,  South 
Carolina,  on  January  2,  1864,  in  the  midst  of  the  great  Civil 
War,  at  a  time,  however,  when  the  tide  of  disaster  was  already 
running  heavily  against  the  Southern  Confederacy.  His  father 
was  a  native  of  Bavaria,  who  had  emigrated  to  America  in  his 
early  manhood  and  after  a  few  years'  residence  in  New  York 
had  established  himself  in  business  in  Spartanburg  before  the 
outbreak  of  hostilities.  Shortly  after  settling  in  South  Caro- 
lina he  married  Miss  Louisa  Rate,  a  native  of  Bourn  in  Lin- 
colnshire, England. 

In  comparison  with  most  Southern  towns  of  the  same  size, 
Spartanburg  was  unusually  well  provided  with  educational 
facilities.  It  was  the  seat  then,  as  now,  of  Wofford  College,  an 
excellent  institution,  which  under  the  direction  of  the  late  Dr. 
James  H.  Carlisle  exerted  a  wide  and  beneficial  influence  on 
the  young  men  of  South  Carolina  and  the  neighboring  states. 

After  passing  through  the  local  preparatory  schools,  where 
he  already  showed  remarkable  promise,  Professor  Henneman 
entered  this  college  in  the  year  1876  and  spent  the  next  four 
years  in  diligent  study.  It  was  fortunate  that  his  life  as  a 
student  at  Wofford  fell  in  what  is  perhaps  the  most  notable 
period  in  the  history  of  the  College.  Apart  from  Dr.  Carlisle, 
to  whose  lofty  character  and  fine  moral  influence  Professor 
Henneman  was  always  ready  to  pay  tribute,  the  faculty  of 
the  college  embraced  just  at  that  time  a  number  of  men  who 
were  destined  to  careers  of  distinction  in  later  life.  Among 
them  to  be  mentioned  especially  are  three  men,  who  not  many 
years  afterwards  entered  on  a  wider  field  of  activity  at  Van- 
derbilt  University,  viz.,  Professor  J.  H.  Kirkland,  the  present 
Chancellor  of  Vanderbilt,  Professor  Charles  Forster  Smith,  now 
Professor  of  Greek  in  the  University  of  Wisconsin,  and  the  late 
Professor  W.  M.  Baskervill  of  Vanderbilt.  The  present  writer 
has  often  heard  Professor  Henneman  speak  of  the  inspiration 


viii  BIOGRAPHICAL    SKETCH 

which  he  received  from  these  scholars  and  of  the  determining 
influence  which  they  exercised  on  his  life.  In  1881  he  left 
Wofford  and  the  following  autumn  entered  the  University  of 
Virginia.  Throughout  his  career  at  the  University  he  ex- 
hibited a  characteristic  energy,  distinguishing  himself  in  his 
classes  and  at  the  same  time  taking  an  active  part  in  the  debates 
of  the  literary  societies  and  in  the  editorial  management  of  the 
college  magazine.  It  had  always  been  his  intention  to  practise 
law,  and  after  receiving  the  degrees  of  B.A.  and  M.A.  at  the 
University  of  Virginia  in  1883  and  1884  respectively,  he  took  the 
summer  law  course  there,  but  feeling  himself  drawn  more  strongly 
to  a  career  of  scholarship  he  accepted  a  call  to  Wofford  College  as 
Assistant  Professor  of  the  classical  languages  for  the  next  two 
years.  His  experience  during  these  two  years  at  Wofford  con- 
firmed him  in  the  purpose  of  devoting  his  life  to  the  teaching  of 
literature  and  with  the  example  of  Professors  Kirkland,  Smith  and 
Baskervill  before  him,  all  of  whom  had  recently  taken  the  Ph.D. 
degree  in  Germany  —  an  achievement  which  in  those  days  still 
savoured  something  of  the  marvellous  —  he  sailed  for  that 
country  in  the  summer  of  1886  and  the  following  October 
matriculated  at  the  University  of  Berlin.  There  are  few  recol- 
lections more  vivid  in  my  mind  than  that  of  the  chance  meeting 
on  the  Unter  den  Linden  which  first  brought  Professor  Henneman 
and  myself  together  in  the  great  foreign  city.  We  had  been 
fellow-students  at  the  University  of  Virginia  —  had  attended,  in 
many  instances,  the  same  classes,  but  being  members  of  different 
fraternities  and  living  in  different  parts  of  the  college  we  had 
not  had  an  opportunity  of  cultivating  such  an  intimacy  as  the 
similarity  of  our  tastes  and  interests  under  the  new  conditions 
rendered  easy.  It  was  accordingly  from  this  meeting  on  the 
Unter  den  Linden  that  our  real  friendship  may  be  said  to  have 
dated.  I  was  myself  a  new  arrival  in  Berlin  and  the  sight  of  a 
familiar  face  from  the  University  of  Virginia  was  as  welcome 
to  me  as  it  was  unexpected.  Whilst  in  Berlin  Professor  Henne- 
man boarded  in  the  family  of  a  retired  Gymnasium-Lehrer,  Herr 
Biittmann,  son  of  the  famous  Greek  scholar  of  that  name,  and 
there  in  his  lodgings  on  the  Schoneberger  Ufer  and  in  the  lecture 


BIOGRAPHICAL    SKETCH  ix 

rooms  of  the  University  our  meetings  were  of  almost  daily  occur- 
rence during  the  rest  of  my  stay  in  Berlin.  Needless  to  say  that 
he  applied  himself  to  his  professional  studies  with  his  accustomed 
vigour  and  enthusiasm.  He  entered,  however,  with  equal  ardour 
into  the  social  life  of  the  more  serious  students  —  was  a  regular 
attendant  at  the  Germanistiche  Kneipen,  a  participant  in  all 
students'  Ausfliige — in  short,  exhibited  already  the  quick  hu- 
man sympathies  which  formed  one  of  the  most  important  sources 
of  his  influence  in  later  life. 

The  range  of  Professor  Henneman's  studies  at  Berlin  was 
unusually  wide.  He  attended  lectures  on  the  English,  French, 
German  and  Old  Norse  languages  and  literatures  and  was  an 
ordinarius  for  three  semesters  in  the  English  and  Germanic 
seminaries.  He  also  took  courses  in  General  Phonetics  and  in 
Philosophy.  Zupitza,  Tobler,  Weinhold,  Hoffory  —  these  were 
some  of  the  eminent  men  under  whose  instruction  he  mastered 
the  methods  of  philological  science.  His  indefatigable  industry 
and  energy  in  those  days  often  brought  to  my  mind  the  phrase — 
Eiserner  Fltiss — which  was  once  applied  to  Jacob  Grimm.  His 
industry,  indeed,  was  informed  with  something  of  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  fifteenth  century  humanist,  as  was  perhaps  natural  in 
the  period  when  Americans  were  first  beginning  to  take  up  in 
earnest  the  higher  scientific  studies.  In  the  matter  of  lectures 
he  showed  little  preference  for  English  over  German,  but  it  had 
been  his  intention  to  devote  his  life  to  the  former,  so  the  dis- 
sertation which  he  wrote  for  the  doctorate  under  the  direction 
of  Professor  Zupitza  was  on  the  Middle  English  poem,  "The 
Wars  of  Alexander,"  then  only  recently  published  by  Prof.  W. 
W.  Skeat.  It  was  the  recognized  difficulty  which  attended  the 
taking  of  the  degree  at  Berlin  that  determined  him  to  remain 
there  to  the  end  instead  of  joining  the  flight  of  his  countrymen 
to  the  various  "doctor-mills"  in  other  parts  of  Germany  —  uni- 
versities whose  antiquity  and  fame  often  disguised  a  very  low 
standard  of  requirement  in  the  matter  of  degrees.  It  was  the 
same  motive,  no  doubt,  that  influenced  him  to  compose  his 
dissertation  in  German. 

Having  received  the  coveted  degree  of  Doctor  of  Philosophy 


x  BIOGRAPHICAL    SKETCH 

from  the  University  of  Berlin  in  the  summer  of  1889,  Professor 
Henneman  returned  to  America  and  in  the  autumn  of  the  same 
year  entered  on  his  duties  as  Professor  of  English  and  History  at 
Hampden-Sidney  College,  Virginia  —  to  which  chair  he  had  been 
recently  elected.  It  was  not  long  before  he  made  himself  felt 
as  a  force  in  the  life  of  the  place.  His  gifts  as  a  lecturer  no  less 
than  his  learning  won  for  him  in  a  remarkably  short  time  an 
enviable  reputation  in  the  educational  life  of  the  State,  so  that 
it  was  soon  evident  that  his  stay  in  an  institution  of  such  limited 
resources  was  not  likely  to  be  long.  As  a  matter  of  fact  four 
years  later  he  accepted  a  call  to  the  University  of  Tennessee  — 
the  State  University  at  Knoxville  —  whose  President  at  that 
time,  Charles  W.  Dabney,  was  himself  an  old  Hampden-Sidney 
man. 

During  the  first  years  of  his  life  in  Knoxville  Professor 
Henneman  was  burdened  with  the  instruction  in  German  as  well 
as  in  English,  and  it  was  not  till  1898  that  he  was  able  to  realize 
his  long-cherished  desire  to  dedicate  his  whole  effort  to  English 
studies.  Moreover  his  interests  now  set  more  steadily  than 
ever  in  the  direction  of  literature  as  opposed  to  philology,  to 
which  he  had  naturally  been  turned  by  his  German  training. 
Despite  many  complaints  on  the  part  of  students  in  the  begin- 
ning in  regard  to  the  excessive  demands  of  the  new  professor  he 
continued  to  develop  the  work  of  his  department  with  remark- 
able industry  and  success  until  he  had  overcome  the  forces  of 
indolence  and  established  for  himself  a  peculiar  position  of 
popularity  and  influence  in  the  University.  Educational  con- 
ditions in  Tennessee  led  him  to  concentrate  his  energies  more 
and  more  on  teaching,  and  it  was  at  this  time  that  the  foundations 
were  laid  for  the  keen  interest  in  pedagogical  questions  which 
was  one  of  the  distinguishing  features  of  his  activity  during  the 
remainder  of  his  life.  In  recognition  of  this  interest  he  was 
appointed  a  member  of  the  National  Committee  on  College 
Entrance  Requirements  and  served  in  that  capacity  up  to  the 
time  of  his  death.  But  even  during  these  years  at  Knoxville, 
Professor  Henneman  was  by  no  means  idle  in  the  field  of  scholar- 
ship.    He  was  a  frequent  contributor  to  The  Sewanee  Review, 


BIOGRAPHICAL    SKETCH  xi 

of  which  Professor  Trent  was  then  the  editor,  and  took  an  active 
part  in  the  proceedings  of  the  Modern  Language  Association, 
serving  as  a  member  of  the  Executive  Council  for  many  years 
and  occasionally  reading  papers  before  the  Association.  The 
most  noteworthy  of  his  writings  during  this  period,  as  during  the 
subsequent  years  of  his  life,  related  to  the  early  plays  of  Shake- 
speare and  the  contributions  of  the  South  to  American  schol- 
arship. Meagre  as  these  contributions  have  been,  Professor 
Henneman  was  wise  enough  to  see  the  value  of  a  historical  sur- 
vey of  the  subject  as  a  basis  for  the  work  of  a  more  auspicious 
future  and  his  various  articles  on  these  matters,  not  all  of  which 
are  included  in  the  present  volume,  afford  striking  proof  of  his 
judicious  and  accurate  scholarship  no  less  than  of  his  patriotic 
feeling  as  a  Southerner  —  which,  though  untinged  by  narrow 
sectionalism,  was  one  of  the  passions  of  his  life.  Professor 
Henneman's  connection  with  the  University  of  Tennessee  came 
to  an  end  in  1900.  In  the  autumn  of  that  year  he  began  the 
last  and  most  fruitful  period  of  his  life  as  Professor  of  English  in 
the  University  of  the  South  at  Sewanee,  Tennessee  —  a  position 
which  carried  with  it  the  editorship  of  The  Sewanee  Review. 
Indeed,  there  was  nothing  in  the  call  to  Sewanee  that  attracted 
him  more  than  the  opportunities  which  it  gave  him,  as  editor  of 
the  Review,  to  keep  in  close  and  intimate  touch  with  the  intel- 
lectual forces  of  the  South  in  general. 

Professor  Henneman's  life  at  Sewanee  was  one  of  the  most 
varied  activity.  In  the  first  place,  he  was  not  content  with 
the  r6le  of  a  conscientious  teacher  and  scholar,  simply.  There 
as  elsewhere  he  endeavoured  to  impress  himself  more  deeply  on 
the  lives  of  his  pupils  than  would  have  been  possible  through  the 
mere  routine  of  professional  teaching.  Both  as  professor  and  as 
Dean  —  which  office  he  filled  during  the  last  year  of  his  life  — 
he  urged  upon  them,  incessantly,  the  highest  ideals  of  industry 
and  conduct,  and  the  unfeigned  personal  interest  which  he  felt  in 
each  student,  no  less  than  his  own  example,  caused  his  efforts  in 
this  direction  to  be  rewarded  with  a  success  which  would  never 
have  attended  any  merely  abstract  exhortations,  however  elo- 
quent.    His  sympathy  with  the  students  extended  even  to  their 


xli  BIOGRAPHICAL    SKETCH 

sports,  and  this  was,  no  doubt,  one  of  the  sources  of  his  influence 
with  them.  Be  this  as  it  may,  few  teachers  of  his  generation 
have  been  remembered  in  later  years  with  so  much  affection  by 
the  young  men  who  have  sat  under  their  instruction. 

Apart,  however,  from  his  work  as  a  teacher  and  editor,  Pro- 
fessor Henneman  found  outlets  for  his  energy  also  as  a  writer 
and  lecturer.  Already  before  leaving  Knoxville,  he  had  given 
courses  in  the  University  of  Chicago  during  the  summer  of  1899. 
In  the  winter  of  1907  he  delivered  a  series  of  public  lectures  at 
the  Johns  Hopkins  University  on  the  Early  Plays  of  Shake- 
speare, and  in  the  summer  of  1908  he  conducted  classes  at  the 
University  of  Virginia.  He  was  the  constant  representative  of 
his  university  at  the  annual  meetings  of  the  Southern  Association 
of  Schools  and  Colleges  and  at  the  annual  Conference  on  Southern 
Education.  He  was  also  a  regular  attendant  at  the  meetings  of 
the  Modern  Language  Association  and  the  American  Historical 
Association.  As  frequent  personal  contact  with  the  leaders  in 
American  literature  and  scholarship  as  the  circumstances  of  his 
situation  permitted,  was,  indeed,  one  of  the  aims  of  his  life. 
Moreover,  he  was  not  a  silent  participant  in  these  various  gather- 
ings. Especially  in  his  own  field,  the  South,  no  one  was  listened 
to  with  more  attention  in  all  matters  that  related  to  his  profession. 
As  regards  his  services  to  scholarship  —  apart  from  his  teaching 
—  his  most  valuable  work  was  done  as  editor  of  The  Sewanee 
Review.  His  own  contributions  to  this  Review  included,  among 
other  things,  most  of  the  material  which  makes  up  the  present 
volume.  He  was  a  contributor,  moreover,  to  the  Furnivall  Mis- 
cellany (1901)  and  was  joint-editor  with  Professor  Trent  (his 
immediate  predecessor  in  the  chair  of  English  at  Sewanee)  in 
an  edition  of  Thackeray's  works  for  T.  Y.  Crowell  &  Company, 
and  in  an  edition  of  Richard  Grant  White's  Shakespeare  for 
Little,  Brown  &  Company,  and  was  one  of  the  editors  of  the 
encyclopaedic  work,  "The  South  in  the  Building  of  the  Nation." 
These  are  only  a  few  of  his  more  noteworthy  labours  in  the  in- 
terests of  scholarship. 

But  at  a  time  when  his  life  seemed  most  full  of  usefulness 
and  promise   our  dear  friend  received  the  summons  of  death. 


BIOGRAPHICAL    SKETCH  xiii 

Three  years  before  leaving  Knoxville  he  had  married  Miss 
Marion  Hubard  of  Buckingham  County,  Virginia,  and  her  in- 
tellectual tastes  and  the  ardent  sympathy  which  she  had  brought 
into  his  life  had  been  a  source  of  strength  to  him  in  the  re- 
mainder of  his  career.  She  was  now  called  on  to  bear  the 
heaviest  of  afflictions  —  the  loss  of  one  whose  chivalrous  nature 
and  tenderness  of  heart  no  less  than  his  distinguished  attain- 
ments had  made  their  life  together  one  of  joy  and  pride.  His 
decline  began  in  the  late  summer  of  1907.  After  prolonged  rest 
and  a  surgical  operation  in  the  following  winter,  however,  he 
enjoyed  several  months  more  of  apparently  excellent  health,  and 
in  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1908  he  was  as  active  as  ever. 
Indeed,  as  late  as  October  he  read  a  paper  before  the  meeting  of 
the  Southern  Association  of  Schools  and  Colleges  at  Chattanooga, 
and  friends  who  saw  him  on  that  occasion  were  particularly 
struck  with  his  cheerfulness  and  vigour.  But  the  recover)*  was 
only  temporary.  By  the  middle  of  the  following  month  his 
condition  was  again  grave  and  he  was  removed  to  St.  Luke's 
Hospital  in  Richmond,  Virginia.  He  reached  Richmond  on 
November  25.  The  following  day  —  Thanksgiving  Day  — he 
breathed  his  last. 

The  qualities  which  made  my  lamented  friend  a  notable  force 
in  the  sphere  of  his  activities  will,  I  hope,  be  manifest  in  the 
main  from  the  above  sketch  of  his  life.  Before  closing,  however, 
this  brief  and  imperfect  account  of  his  career,  I  wish  to  bear 
testimony  once  more  to  his  fine  integrity,  his  loveableness  of 
disposition,  his  loyalty  as  a  friend  —  perhaps  the  most  striking 
trait  of  his  character  —  his  universal  human  sympathies  and  his 
unwearied  diligence  in  pursuit  of  things  of  the  spirit.  When 
death  claims  such  a  man,  the  whole  South  may  well  feel  that  it 
has  lost  in  him  one  of  its  most  valiant  servants,  but  to  those  who 
walked  for  so  long  the  same  paths  as  he,  his  untimely  end  has 
come  as  the  extinction  of  one  of  the  joys  of  life. 

J.  D.  Bruce. 
July,  191 1. 


Contents 

PAGI 

I.     Shakespeare  in  Recent  Years :   His    Relation  to 

His  Predecessors 3 

II.     Shakespeare  in  Recent  Years:   The  Themes   of 

Tragedy 29 

III.  The  Man  Shakespeare:  His  Growth  as  an  Artist.  51 

IV.  The  Episodes  in  Shakespeare's  /  Henry  VI .    .    .  83 
V.     James  Lane  Allen  :  A  Study 115 

VI.     English  Studies  in  the  South 169 

VII.     Two  Pioneers  in  the  Historical  Study  of  English : 

Thomas  Jefferson  and  Louis  F.  Klipstein  189 

VIII.     The  National  Element  in  Southern  Literature.    .  199 

IX.     Historical  Studies  in  the  South  since  the  War  .    .  223 

X.     The  Nestor  of  Hungarian  Letters 245 


I. 

Shakespeare  in  Recent  Years 

His  Relation  to  His 

Predecessors 


From  The  Sewanee  Review, 
January,  1908 


SHAKESPEARE  IN   RECENT  YEARS: 

I.    HIS  RELATION  TO  HIS 

PREDECESSORS* 

WITH  the  revival  of  interest  in  a  more  distinctively  literary 
study  on  a  sound  basis  in  our  colleges  and  universities 
throughout  the  western  world  —  a  study  necessarily  profoundly 
affected  by  the  broad  principles  now  underlying  the  pursuits  of 
philology,  history,  philosophy  and  science  —  it  has  been  in- 
evitable that  Shakespeare,  the  chief  dramatic  interpreter  of  the 
thoughts  and  emotions  of  this  western  world,  should  become  the 
subject  of  renewed  inquiry  and  discussion.  Indeed,  so  great  has 
been  this  output  that  it  is  with  some  temerity  that  one  even 
announces  a  paper  on  Shakespeare.  I  shall  merely  plead  as  my 
excuse  a  genuine  interest  in  the  subject  born  of  a  study  existing 
and  increasing  now  consciously  through  twenty  years;  and  simi- 
larly, I  believe  I  may  count  on  a  degree  of  intimacy  and  interest 
in  others.  Paradoxical  or  not,  this  very  familiarity  contributes 
a  chief  reason  for  writing  on  these  matters. 

But  if  Shakespeare  has  become  more  and  more  a  subject  of 
academic  study,  he  is  becoming  less  and  less  a  tradition  for  the 
English  and  American  stage  and  playworld.  Mr.  Sidney  Lee's 
latest  book  on  "Shakespeare  and  the  Modern  Stage"  would  imply 
that  it  is  requiring  serious  effort  in  Great  Britain  to  restore 
Shakespeare  to  what  Mr.  Lee  considers  his  theoretically  deserved 
place  in  popular  esteem  and  to  win  general  practical  acceptance 
for  the  recognition  of  the  poet's  educational  value.  We  hear 
from  many  sides,  as  from  Mr.  Bernard  Shaw  and  the  Russian 
novelist,  Tolstoy,  that  Shakespeare  is  entirely  overrated.  A 
stay  in  New  York  for  several  weeks  at  the  height  of  the  theat- 
rical season  usually  reveals  the  fact  that  no  Shakespearean  play 
at  all  is  regularly  before  the  public  in  that  city.  Two  houses  of 
grand  opera  in  full  blast — in  the  belief  that  New  York  cansup- 

*  The  material  for  this  and  the  paper  to  follow  was  used  in  lectures  before 
the  Johns  Hopkins  University,  Baltimore,  in  January,  1907. 


■ 

4      SHAKESPEARE  IN  RECENT  YEARS: 

port  what  no  other  city  on  earth  attempts  —  musical  concerts 
without  number,  unlimited  vaudeville,  but  in  genuine  theatrical 
work  only  a  sprinkling  of  nondescript  representations,  seem  to 
be  what  the  American  public,  judged  by  the  New  York  stan- 
dard, is  demanding,  or  is  at  least  paying  for.  The  Ben  Greet 
Company  well  nigh  alone  may  be  excepted.  This  company  has 
been  traveling  among  our  universities  and  small  cities  in  the 
South  and  West,  presenting  the  morality  of  Everyman  and 
sundry  plays  of  Shakespeare  with  a  simplicity  and  a  naturalness 
suggestive  of  the  Elizabethan  spirit. 

Every  age  and  generation  has  its  own  way  of  looking  at  things: 
demands  its  new  and  personal  interpretation  of  a  philosophy  of 
literature  and  of  life.  Like  the  continued  recurrence  of  spring- 
time and  youth,  the  mystery  is  ever  new  and  never  ceases  to 
surprise.  Each  one  must  interpret  a  piece  of  literature  in  his 
own  modes  of  thought,  must  experience  its  enjoyment  and  derive 
its  lesson  for  himself.  The  really  great  masters  in  literature — 
and  they  are  necessarily  very  few — are  great  just  in  that  they 
divined  and  expressed  life  in  such  large  measure  as  to  give  some- 
thing, and  never  the  same  thing,  to  each  age  and  generation, 
to  every  student  of  literature  anywhere. 

Three  such  names  the  ancient  Greeks  undoubtedly  furnished: 
Homer,  if  we  may  still  unite  under  one  name  the  racial  genius 
that  produced  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey ;  yEschylus,  the  author 
of  the  Agamemnon  trilogy  and  the  Prometheus ;  and  Sophocles, 
the  portrayer  of  CEdipus's  agony  and  Antigone's  calm  despair. 
Our  modern  age — and  this  is  the  glory  of  our  Mother  Country 
and  the  British  race  —  furnished  certainly  one,  and  perhaps  but 
one:  the  creator  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  and  Mercutio ;  of  Shylock 
and  Portia;  of  Richard  III  and  Henry  V;  of  Bully  Bottom  and 
Falstaff  aud  Dogberry  and  Touchstone  and  the  Fool  in  Lear ; 
of  Beatrice  and  Rosalind  and  Viola;  of  Brutus,  of  Hamlet,  and 
Othello,  and  Iago,  of  Lear  and  Edmund,  of  Macbeth  and  Lady 
Macbeth,  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  of  Ophelia,  Desdemona,  and 
the  Lady  Cordelia,  of  Imogen,  of  Prospero  —  but  where  shall  we 
end?  The  Prospero-Shakespeare  has  minted  so  many  fresh  coins 
from  his  brain  to  be  current  among  mankind! 


HIS  RELATION  TO  HIS  PREDECESSORS    6 

I  have  used  advisedly  the  term  'creator.'  For  this  act  ap- 
proaches most  nearly  that  of  divinity  itself.  He  made  man  in 
His  own  image:  He  created  the  living  soul.  We  do  not  speak  of 
Falstaff,  Hamlet,  Iago,  Cleopatra,  as  types,  generic  of  a  class. 
We  mean  Falstaff,  Hamlet,  Iago,  Cleopatra  themselves,  por- 
trayed in  all  their  complexity.  Your  lesser  writers,  even  of  as 
great  magnitude  as  Charles  Dickens,  deal  in  types.  But  Divin- 
ity creates  the  individual,  and  can  go  no  farther. 

From  this  point  of  view  in  our  English  literature,  perhaps 
Chaucer  alone  approaches  most  nearly  to  the  first  great  class  of 
poets,  makers  or  creators.  The  tragedy  of  Troilus  and  Cri- 
seyde  stirred  with  profound  pity  through  its  story  of  unhappy 
love  two  hundred  years  before  Romeo  and  Juliet.  For  I  still 
must  adhere  rather  to  Professor  Price's  delicate  interpretation 
printed  ten  years  ago  in  the  Publications  of  the  Modern  Language 
Association,  than  accept  the  attempt  of  Professor  Cook,  of  Yale, 
at  a  recent  meeting  of  this  Association,  at  an  extreme  modifica- 
tion of  this  view,  where  Chaucer's  Criseyde  was  reduced  to  a 
mere  wanton.  It  seems  to  me  that  this  latter  conception  leaves 
out  the  very  thing  in  dispute — the  literary  quality — the  deli- 
cacy of  insight,  the  interpretative  power  of  a  master-poet  I 
think  we  may  accept,  too,  that  the  dramatic  genius  that  created 
the  Wife  of  Bath  was  not  only  of  a  high  order,  but  not  far  below 
that  which  produced  Falstaff  himself 

In  other  literatures,  whom  shall  we  name?  Some  deny  this 
first  great  position  to  Dante,  the  chief  poet  of  mediaevalism,  as 
too  subjective  and  egoistic,  despite  all  his  populating  of  Hell, 
Purgatory,  and  Paradise.  Many  likewise  deny  the  first  of  all 
positions  to  Milton,  the  creator  of  Satan;  although  a  very  good 
friend  of  mine  and  a  great  lover  of  poetry,  places  him  at  the 
head  of  all  English  poetry.  The  answer  depends  not  a  little  on 
our  conception  of  what  poetry  is  or  should  be,  and  the  place  of 
the  made  epic  in  its  relation  to  the  drama  in  literary  art 

The  lyric  singers  with  their  outbursts  of  the  glorified  Me  are 
in  still  another  class  —  except  in  the  Hebrew  Psalter,  where  the 
worship  of  Jehovah  lifts  the  speaker  and  singer  far  beyond  him- 
self into  the  heights  of  a  glorified  ecstasy. 


6  SHAKESPEARE    IN    RECENT    YEARS: 

Shall  we  include  Moliere,  who  has  best  expressed  the  racial 
genius  of  the  French  people  ?  Shall  we  then  name  the  German 
Goethe,  who  a  hundred  years  before  anticipated  so  much  of  the 
critical  and  scientific  intellectual  habit  of  the  nineteenth  and 
twentieth  centuries?  Shall  we  name  the  lone  figure  of  Don 
Quixote  in  Spanish  literature,  the  contemporary  of  Falstaff, 
lingering  between  the  eve  of  medievalism  and  the  dawn  of  mo- 
dernity, which  laughed  Spain's  chivalry  away?  Diverse  answers 
may  come  from  different  sources. 

The  great  difference  in  the  present  approach  to  Shakespeare 
from  that  of  former  days  is  the  contributory  light  which  is 
thrown  upon  him.  The  poet  is  studied  not  only  for  and  in  him- 
self, but  in  the  light  of  his  predecessors  and  contemporaries,  and 
these  in  view  of  a  world  movement  This  does  not  mean  any 
the  less  intimate  study  of  the  poet's  work  in  and  for  itself;  but 
a  wider  knowledge,  a  greater  intelligence,  and  larger  sympathies 
have  become  associated  with  that  closer  study.  We  wonder  no 
less  at  the  intellectual  power  and  poetic  imagination  which  pro- 
duced the  work;  but  we  are  able  to  trace  better  the  normal 
processes  by  which  that  genius  developed.  Shakespeare  be- 
comes removed  from  the  position  of  a  fetich,  and  is  chiefly  the 
constructive  artist  working  in  a  dramatic  medium. 

We  do  not  expect  to  find  a  great  mountain  peak  rising  isolated 
out  of  a  low-lying  plain,  but  approached  by  a  broken  and  undu- 
lating country.  Shakespeare  had  his  predecessors  like  Lyly, 
Greene,  Peele,  Kyd,  Marlowe;  contemporaries  like  Ben  Jon- 
son,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  Chapman,  Middleton,  Heywood 
and  Dekker ;  followers  like  Massinger  and  Webster.  The  Eliza- 
bethan age  was  one  of  intense  poetic  and  dramatic  activity. 
Coming  after  the  physical  and  mental  unrest  of  the  reigns  of 
Henry  VIII  and  Mary,  it  was  one  of  rich,  full,  pulsating  life. 
This  corresponding  movement  in  literature  found  its  best  ex- 
pression in  dramatic  form.  Everybody  seemed  to  be  a  dramatist, 
as  in  our  degenerate  days  everybody  has  written  fiction.  And 
Shakespeare  was  the  highest  fulfillment  of  this  best  expression 
of  the  life  and  thought  of  his  day.  Or  to  state  it  differently  in  a 
sentence  somewhat  adapted :     The  greatest  glory  of  England  is 


HIS   RELATION  TO    HIS   PREDECESSORS  7 

her  literature,  and  the  greatest  glory  of  her  literature  is  its 
poetry,  and  the  greatest  glory  of  her  poetry  is  its  dramatic 
rather  than  its  epic  and  lyric  triumphs ;  and  the  greatest  drama- 
tist—  among  this  set  of  remarkable  men  who  have  been  too  little 
known  to  the  general  reader — is  Shakespeare. 

But  let  us  leave  externals  and  come  to  a  discussion  of  the  plays 
themselves.  We  know  well  that  Shakespeare  did  not  invent  new 
forms,  any  more  than  he  usually  invented  his  plots.  He  merely 
transcended  other  men's  work  by  the  power,  glow,  and  vigor  of 
his  imagination.  Before  Shakespeare  there  were  comedies  like 
Lyly's,  stilted  and  affected  though  they  were;  there  were 
Chronicle  or  History  Plays  like  Peele's  Edward  I,  Marlowe's 
Edward  II,  and  the  anonymous  Edward  III ;  Romantic  Plays, 
like  Greene's  James  IV;  examples  of  bombast  like  Peele's  Battle 
of  Alcazar,  Greene's  Alphonsus  of  Arragon  and  Marlowe's 
Tamburlaint ;  Tragedies  of  Blood  like  Kyd's  Spanish  Tragedy 
and  Marlowe' s/ew  of  Malta.  Before  Shakespeare  wrote  Venus 
and  Adonis  and  Lucrece  there  were  narrative  poems  like  those  of 
Spenser,  Lodge's  Glaucus  and  Scilla,  Daniel's  Complaint  of 
Rosamond,  and  Marlowe's  Hero  and  Leander.  Before  Shake- 
speare's essays  in  the  Sonnet,  there  had  been  not  only  Wyatt 
and  Surrey,  who  introduced  the  form  to  English  literature,  but 
Sidney's  Astrophel  and  Stella,  long  the  model  for  a  sonnet 
sequence  on  unhappy  love,  with  its  countless  imitators. 

It  is  well,  too,  to  remember  the  tremendous  influence  of  the 
Continental  literatures  on  the  Elizabethan,  for  it  is  only  by 
degrees  that  we  have  come  to  realize  the  importance  of  their 
study  as  bearing  on  this  subject  In  an  age  of  travel  accompany- 
ing the  Revival  of  Letters  and  the  Renaissance,  England  knew 
French  and  Italian  literatures  fairly  well,  and  not  a  little  of  the 
more  remote  Spanish  and  German.  Latin — however  carelessly 
learned  and  used  —  was  still  the  universal  tongue  of  the  school 
and  of  all  education  ;  and  Greek  had  begun  to  exert  its  influence 
on  the  universities.  Most  of  these  influences  met  in  greater  or 
less  degree,  directly  or  indirectly,  in  Shakespeare,  as  the  crea- 
ture of  his  age.  So  vividly  Italian  does  the  dramatist  seem  at 
times  that  some  think  he  must  have  visited  Italy —  the  Northern 


8      SHAKESPEARE  IN  RECENT  YEARS: 

Italy  of  Lombardy  and  Venetia,  of  Milan  and  Verona  and  Man- 
tua and  Padua  and  Venice.  He  does  not  describe  so  closely  the 
Italy  further  south — Tuscany,  Rome,  and  the  Two  Sicilies. 
The  French  conversations  in  Henry  V,  and  French  phrases  and 
sentences  scattered  through  the  plays,  make  it  probable  that 
their  author  knew  a  sort  of  Anglo-French,  picked  up  in  the 
streets  and  taverns  of  London  which  still  held  close  relations 
with  the  neighboring  French  coast  He  did  not  know  German. 
I  recall  now  only  one  German  expression  in  the  plays:  "Lus- 
tique,  as  the  Dutchman  says,"  in  All's  Well,  II,  iii,  37. 

He  must  have  known  of  Lyly's  Latin  Accidence  which  he 
ridiculed  in  the  Merry  Wives,  and  have  read  some  of  the 
stories  of  Ovid  and  picturesque  portions  of  Vergil — tale-tellers 
who  were  favorites  during  the  Middle  Age  and  far  into  the  period 
of  the  Renaissance.  Perhaps,  too,  he  was  acquainted  somewhat 
with  Livy,  the  popular  Latin  historian,  and  naturally  had  read  a 
play  or  two  of  Plautus  and  of  Seneca,  in  a  day  of  classical  imita- 
tive impulse.  A  Stratford  Grammar  School  boy  would  at  least 
know  something  of  Latin,  if  he  knew  anything.  There  were 
then  no  courses  to  divert  his  attention  like  our  present  day  Eng- 
lish, History,  and  Higher  Mathematics  in  American  Preparatory 
Schools,  the  examinations  in  which,  for  entrance  to  college,  I  am 
sure  Shakespeare  could  not  have  passed. 

We  can  now  better  understand  how  Shakespeare  entered  upon 
his  career  of  dramatist  Becoming  connected  somehow  with  the 
theatre,  he  practised  his  'prentice  hand  in  working  over  old 
plays.  He  doubtless  at  first  attempted  no  more  than  to  make  a 
play  go  better  and  be  more  actable — attract  a  bigger  public,  and 
bring  more  silver  into  the  receipt-box.  He  must  have  turned 
instinctively  to  scenes  which  contained  dramatic  possibilities 
and  have  developed  those,  perhaps  leaving  many  portions  of  the 
old  play  as  it  was.  At  length,  while  still  making  use  of  older 
material,  whether  in  a  crude  play  already  existing  or  in  a  story- 
book, he  seized  upon  the  dramatic  possibilities  of  a  situation  and 
of  a  character,  and  wrote  the  play  from  start  to  finish.  Yet 
never  did  the  dramatist  give  up  his  early  habit  of  helping  out  an 
old  play  and  making  it  more  probable  by  touching  up  certain 


HIS    RELATION   TO  HIS    PREDECESSORS  I 

scenes  or  rewriting  them  entirely  afresh,  leaving  the  rest  of  the 
play  to  some  colleague.  It  was  a  method  perhaps  inseparable 
from  the  theatrical  exigencies  of  the  day.  This  seems  the  best 
way  to  explain  at  later  and  very  different  stages  of  his  work  the 
inequalities  and  deficiencies  in  such  a  variety  of  plays  as  The 
Taming  of  tlie  Shrew,  Titnon  of  Athens,  Pericles,  and  perhaps 
Henry  VIII.  It  is  extremely  doubtful  whether  The  Two  Noble 
Kinsmen,  the  first  act  of  which  some  have  supposed  to  be 
Shakespeare's  and  the  rest  continued  and  completed  by  John 
Fletcher,  is  in  any  part  Shakespeare's  at  all. 

Not  enough  has  yet  been  investigated  concerning  this  connec- 
tion of  Shakespeare's  plays  with  his  predecessors  and  his  con- 
temporaries, and  with  much  of  the  older  Elizabethan  and  Conti- 
nental material.  The  dramatist  in  the  past  has  been  studied  too 
far  by  himself  and  for  himself.  A  beginning,  however,  is  being 
made  and  a  better  opportunity  offered,  by  the  new  editions  of 
Elizabethan  dramatists  and  contemporary  documents  undertaken 
by  the  Oxford  and  Cambridge  and  other  Presses. 

Nearly  all  the  first  plays  of  Shakespeare  had  prototypes :  a 
ground  plan  that  the  dramatist  worked  upon.  There  was  an  old 
play  on  the  victories  of  Talbot  over  the  French,  retold  in  / 
Henry  VI.  There  were  old  plays  on  the  bloodshedding  in  the 
Wars  of  the  Roses,  recounted  in  //  and  ///  Henry  VI;  more 
than  one  old  play,  indeed,  existed  on  the  popular  conception  of 
the  hump-backed,  bloody  Richard  III.  Plautus  had  an  old  play, 
the  Mencechmi,  on  the  confusion  of  two  brothers ;  on  this  seems 
to  have  been  built  an  old  Elizabethan  play,  The  Historie  of 
Error;  and  this  in  turn  became  tlie  ground  work  for  Shake- 
speare's The  Comedy  of  Errors.  An  old  double  play,  The 
Troublesome  Raigne  of  King  John,  in  ten  acts,  or  two  parts, 
was  the  basis  of  Shakespeare's  single  play  of  King  John. 
There  was  possibly  an  older  play  on  the  subject  of  the  deposed 
King  Richard  II,  and  a  wretched  piece,  Tlie  Famous  Vic- 
tories of  Henry  V,  suggested  points  to  all  three  plays  contain- 
ing Prince  Hal:  both  parts  of  Henry  IV  and  Henry  V. 
Maybe  there  was  an  older  play  on  Shylock,  the  Jew  of  Venice. 
Beyond  question  an  older  play  explains  much  that  is  otherwise 


10  SHAKESPEARE    IN    RECENT  YEARS: 

inexplicable  in  the  Tragedy  of  Blood,  Titus  Andronicus. 
There  was  an  older  Hamlet  play  with  the  ghost  and  all  the 
other  disturbing  improbabilities,  and  it  has  been  guessed,  with 
some  degree  of  assurance,  that  the  writer  of  this  old  play  was 
Thomas  Kyd,  the  author  of  The  Spanish  Tragedy. 

I  emphasize  this  phase  of  Shakespeare's  early  work,  because 
it  is  just  here  that  the  most  insoluble  problems  occur  in  connec- 
tion with  the  history  and  development  of  Shakespeare's  art.  To 
me  the  periods  of  Shakespeare's  work  that  have  proved  most  re- 
warding, are  two :  that  of  the  plays  which  mark  the  beginnings 
and  growth  of  the  dramatist's  art,  and  that  which  displays  his 
greatest  achievement  in  comedy  and  tragedy. 

In  this  work  of  revamping  old  stuff  and  improving  old  themes, 
it  seems  natural  to  suppose  that  Shakespeare  began  with  the 
older  chronicle  form  of  play  and  the  traditions  of  classical 
comedy  and  tragedy.  Such  a  theory  best  explains  what  is  per- 
haps the  greatest  crux  in  Shakespeare — the  relation  of  77  and 
III  Henry  VI  to  the  two  older  plays,  their  originals,  viz. :  The 
Contention  Between  the  Two  Houses  of  York  and  Laficaster, 
and  the  True  Tragedie  of  Richard,  Duke  of  York,  and  the 
relation  of  all  four  of  these,  still  further,  to  I  Henry  VI  and 
Richard  III.  The  inextricable  confusion  can  only  be  ex- 
plained, it  seems  to  me,  by  a  reference  to  this  process  of  work- 
ing over  old  plays.  While  the  theory  may  not  be  proved  at  every 
point,  it  is  one  of  which  I  have  become  fairly  convinced  and 
upon  which  I  have  had  the  hardihood  to  write  more  than  once. 

The  problem  is  this.  We  have  six  plays.  There  has  been 
some  doubt  that  they  are  Shakespeare's  at  all — yet  Shake- 
speare seems  to  have  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  every  one  of 
the  six  The  subject  of  the  Wars  of  the  Roses  was  an  inter- 
esting and  vital  one  historically,  and  from  the  point  of  view  of 
the  popular  Tragedy  of  Blood  was  also  essentially  dramatic. 
There  must  have  been  originally  an  old  play  or  plays  on  this 
subject — before  Shakespeare  engaged  with  the  material  at  all. 
This  original  matter  Shakespeare,  most  probably  with  others, 
worked  over  into  the  two  plays  existing  in  quarto  form:  The 
Contention   Between   the   Two  Houses  of    York  and  Lancaster 


HIS   RELATION  TO   HIS   PREDECESSORS        11 

and  the  True  Tragedie  of  Richard,  Duke  of  York.  Note  the 
expression,  "  True  Tragedie,"  implying  that  there  was  another 
inferior  version  and  perhaps  a  rival  performance  by  a  theatrical 
company  on  the  next  block.  I  believe,  consequently,  that  in 
these  two  plays,  The  Contention  and  the  True  Tragedie,  while 
not  wholly,  and  possibly  not  largely,  Shakespeare's,  we  have 
incorporated  the  oldest  and  first  specimens  of  his  work  to  be 
found. 

A  very  little  later  it  dawned  upon  the  dramatist  that  this 
material  could  be  used  to  still  further  advantage.  He  could  de- 
velop these  two  plays  on  the  Wars  of  the  Roses,  prefix  a  play 
and  affix  a  play  —  material  for  which  already  existed  in  previous 
plays — and  connect  all  four,  thus  resulting  in  a  tetralogy  on 
the  unfortunate  reign  of  Henry  VI,  crowned  by  the  figure  of  the 
wicked  monster,  whom  these  dissensions  had  generated,  Rich- 
ard III. 

Whatever  part  of  the  original  plays,  The  Contention  and 
the  True  Tragedie,  and  even  of  the  new  plays  thus  produced, 
may  have  been  by  others  —  Peele,  Lodge,  or  even  Greene  and 
Marlowe — the  new  conception  of  an  historic  tetralogy  seems  to 
have  been  that  of  one  mind,  and  this  one  mind  to  have  been 
Shakespeare's.  The  one  name  that  emerges  and  certainly  had 
a  hand  in  them,  though  all  four  of  the  pieces  were  probably  com- 
posite, as  described,  is  Shakespeare's.  All  the  changes,  height- 
ening, developing,  expanding,  seem  to  have  this  one  object  in 
view.  An  old  play  existed  on  Talbot's  victories  over  the 
French;  it  could  be  reduced  and  altered.  The  events  were  those 
of  the  early  days  of  Henry  VI.  It  is  only  necessary  to  heighten 
the  parts  dealing  with  Talbot's  bravery,  lengthen  the  pathetic 
business  of  the  death  of  Talbot  and  his  young  son  into  a  lyrical 
outburst,  introduce  Henry  VI  as  an  ineffective  young  king  just 
coming  of  age,  indicate  the  beginning  of  the  Wars  of  the  Roses 
in  the  delightful  scene  of  the  plucking  of  the  white  and  red  roses 
in  the  Temple  Garden  —  for  whose  can  such  poetry  be  save 
Shakespeare's,  even  at  the  beginning  of  his  art?  Finally,  add 
the  wooing  of  Margaret  by  Suffolk  for  his  king  (and  for  himself) 
as  a  good  curtain — and  there  you  are!    The  play  is  done  and  you 


12      SHAKESPEARE  IN  RECENT  YEARS: 

may  label  it  /  Henry  VI  and  let  it  precede  the  other  two  old 
quarto  plays  on  the  Wars  of  the  Roses. ' 

The  Margaret  episode  at  the  end  of  /  Henry  VI  leads  us 
to  expect  more — for  it  is  unmistakably  inserted  at  the  close  with 
this  intention.  It  introduces  a  new  element  and  serves  as  a 
transition  to  the  following  parts.  The  figure  of  Margaret  is 
the  one  character  that  is  in  all  four  plays  of  the  tetralogy — from 
first  to  last.  By  a  fictitious  device  —  undoubtedly,  it  seems  to 
me,  the  work  of  Shakespeare — Margaret  appears  in  all  four 
plays,  unhistorically,  it  is  true,  but,  dramatically,  very  effective : 
in  the  first  two  as  a  lover;  in  the  last  two,  Cassandra-like, 
heaping  curses  and  prophesying  doom. 

With  the  old  Talbot  play  thus  converted  into  a  Henry  VI 
play  and  this  introduction  now  called  /  Henry  VI  completed, 
the  dramatist  returned  to  the  old  plays  of  The  Contention  and 
the  True  Tragedie,  dealing  with  the  Wars  of  the  Roses,  in 
which  it  is  most  probable  Shakespeare  already  had  a  decisive 
share.  What  would  he  now  do  ?  Why,  naturally  take  these  two 
plays  with  their  excellent  dramatic  raw  material,  and  in  the  light 
of  I  Henry  VI,  develop  them,  extend  them,  expand  them,  in- 
tensify their  dramatic  and  lyrical  notes,  and  thus  expanded  and 
intensified  call  them  II  and  ///  Henry  VI,  respectively. 

The  two  plays  contain  plenty  of  good  stuff.     Thus  the  dying 

words  of  the  conscience-stricken  Cardinal  Beaufort : 

Comb  down  his  hair :  look,  look  !  it  stands  upright, 
Like  lime-twigs  set  to  catch  my  winged  soul. 
Give  me  some  drink.    .    .    . 

And  Warwick  comments : 

See  how  the  pangs  of  death  do  make  him  grin ! 

Already  in  III  Henry  VI  the  deformed,  hump-backed  Richard 
is  characterized  by  his  monologue  form : 

I  have  no  brother,  I  am  like  no  brother, 

And  this  word '  love,'  which  grey  beards  call  divine, 

Be  resident  in  men  like  one  another 

And  not  in  me :  I  am  myself  alone. 

1  My  arguments  for  this  were  stated  some  years  ago  in  a  paper  in  the  Pub- 
lications of  the  Modern  Language  Association  entitled  "  The  Episodes  in  / 
Henry  VI." 


HIS   RELATION  TO  HIS   PREDECESSORS        13 

The  true  conception  is  already  there,  and  forthwith  a  final 
fourth  play  is  appended :  Richard  III  Richard  had  been  the 
subject,  seemingly,  of  more  than  one  play  before ;  but  this  is  the 
first  indication  of  any  consistent  psychological  conception  of  the 
character.  Many  hands  may  have  dealt  with  the  original  dra- 
matic material  in  the  four  plays;  but  it  seems  that  no  one  but 
Shakespeare — the  same  conscious  artist,  who  developed  later 
into  the  creator  of  Hamlet,  Iago,  Othello  and  Lear — planned 
putting  these  four  plays  together  into  a  sequence  and  one  consis- 
tent whole  with  their  fitting  culmination  in  the  imperious  Rich- 
ard. The  characteristic  psychology  of  the  later  plays  may  be 
already  discerned  in  the  earlier  ones.  Here  are  the  definite 
marks  of  Shakespearean  tragedy  near  its  beginning.  As  in  the 
later  plays,  there  is  the  conflict  between  forces  —  a  great  waste  of 
heroic  qualities,  courage,  determination,  great  will  —  and  some- 
how something  that  compels  our  sympathy.  The  tremendous 
will-power  and  the  splendid  audacity  in  courting  Lady  Anne  is 
the  justification  of  what  would  otherwise  be  an  improbable  and 
painful  scene.  The  self-control  in  chasing  away  the  visions  of 
the  night  which  are  troubling  a  haunted  conscience ;  the  dying  a 
death  grandly  and  bravely  on  the  battlefield  worthy  of  a  better 
cause — these  qualities  call  forth  admiration,  even  with  a  natural 
detestation  of  Richard's  character.  Full  of  crudities,  irrele- 
vances these  four  early  history  plays  naturally  are ;  they  reveal 
their  mixed  origin  and  complex  nature,  indicate  that  they  rest  on 
other  plays  and  contain  elements  we  may  accept  as  un-Shake- 
spearean  ;  but  they  show,  too,  the  process  of  beginning,  growing, 
strengthening  work;  characteristics  that  are  later  developed  in 
the  creation  of  the  masterpieces  of  modern  dramatic  literature. 

Another  point  anent  the  literary  quality  of  Richard  III  may 
here  be  touched  upon.  It  is  in  connection  with  the  vexed 
relations  of  the  quarto  and  the  folio.  The  text  of  the  English 
Globe  and  Cambridge  editors,  usually  adopted  without  question, 
adheres  in  the  main,  as  is  known,  to  the  quarto  text,  as  an 
earlier  version  than  that  of  the  folio,  and  supposedly  more  nearly 
like  Shakespeare's  original  manuscripts.  Other  editors  like  the 
American  Richard  Grant  White,  or  the  maker  of  the  latest  edi- 


14      SHAKESPEARE  IN  RECENT  YEARS: 

tion,  Professor  Ncilson,  in  the  American  Cambridge  Poets 
series,  accept  the  folio  copy  of  1623  as  a  later,  better  and  cor- 
rected form.  The  differences  between  the  two  views  have  been 
great  and  the  discussion  has  sometimes  degenerated  into  violent 
controversy.  One  point  which  seems  to  have  escaped  the  advo- 
cates of  one  text  or  the  other,  I  am  convinced  of.  After  going 
through  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  these  variations — for  they 
are  legion —  to  my  mind  and  to  any  literary  feeling  I  possess,  the 
person  who  made  many  of  these  alterations  from  quarto  to  folio  — 
often  merely  of  a  single  word  in  a  line  —  whether  Shakespeare 
or  not,  was  unquestionably  a  poet  with  distinctively  subtle  qual- 
ities. The  Cambridge  editors  bluntly  affirm  that  the  quarto  is 
probably  from  Shakespeare's  copy.  But  may  not  the  poet  him- 
self (for  certainly  it  was  some  poet)  have  altered  his  own  copy  in 
the  course  of  time  to  the  great  improvement  of  scores,  nay  hun- 
dreds, of  lines?  It  will  be  found  that  change  after  change  has 
been  made  to  escape  awkward  iterations  of  words  and  syllables, 
to  introduce  a  concrete  or  specific  word  in  place  of  a  general 
term,  as  children  for  kindred  or  fathers  for  parents,  or  to  bring 
in  an  entirely  new  poetic  idea.  But  the  editors  of  the  Cam- 
bridge text,  having  started  off  on  a  certain  path  in  obedience  to 
a  theory,  insistently  keep  it  and  will  have  none  of  these  things. 

It  is,  of  course,  beside  the  question,  but  I  may  frankly  express 
the  opinion  for  myself,  that  after  working  for  some  years  over 
the  variations  between  the  quarto  and  folio  copies  of  Shake- 
speare's plays  and  considering  the  number  of  misprints  and 
errors  in  both,  I  am  convinced  that  nothing  like  a  perfect  text 
of  Shakespeare  exists,  nor  in  the  nature  of  the  case  can  very 
well  exist.  The  elements  that  enter  into  the  process  are  entirely 
too  fanciful  and  subjective.  None  of  the  old  copies  is  altogether 
trustworthy,  and  when  we  begin  to  alter,  no  two  of  us,  for  ex- 
ample, will  agree  as  to  the  precise  alteration  to  be  made;  nay, 
frequently,  indeed,  will  be  even  consistent  in  the  treatment 
in  different  places  of  apparently  the  same  phenomena. 

This  lack  of  consistency  is  the  most  grievous  sin  of  all  exist- 
ing texts.  Editors  are  capable  of  doing  on  one  page  what  they 
calmly  ignore  on  another.     The  English  Globe  and  Cambridge 


HIS  RELATION    TO  HIS  PREDECESSORS         16 

text,  generally  accepted  as  the  standard — and  I  shall  not  under- 
take to  say  any  other  is  preferable — is  open  frequently  to  this 
charge  of  inconsistency  from  which  all  texts  suffer;  but  to  my 
feeling  the  Globe  and  Cambridge  text  is  subject  to  the  more 
damning  fault  of  having  been  established  by  minds  that,  while 
remarkably  accurate  in  details  of  textual  criticism,  seemingly 
had  no  adequate  feeling  for  poetic  distinction. 

But  we  can  see  the  beginner  Shakespeare  practising  in  Comedy 
and  Tragedy  no  less  than  in  the  History  Play.  In  perhaps  the 
latest  edition  of  Shakespeare's  plays,  that  of  Professor  Neilson 
in  the  American  Cambridge  Poets  edition  just  mentioned,  the 
editor  has  departed  from  the  usual  folio  arrangement  of  the 
Comedies  and  the  Tragedies,  and  has  ventured  to  classify  these 
according  to  content  and  to  arrange  them  in  their  presumed 
chronological  order.  In  doing  so  he  follows  the  traditional 
opinion  that  Love's  Labour's  Lost  is  Shakespeare's  earliest 
Comedy.  It  may  be  so;  but  for  a  long  time  I  have  not  been 
able  to  escape  the  feeling  that  much  may  be  said  for  the 
Comedy  of  Errors  being  the  first  in  point  of  time.  Professor 
Baker  of  Harvard  in  his  new  book  on  Shakespeare's  Growth 
as  a  Dramatist  places  Love's  Labour's  Lost  first  and  the 
Comedy  of  Errors  later,  on  the  ground  of  advance  in  dra- 
matic structure.  But  this  may  easily  be  accounted  for  by  the 
fact  that  in  the  Errors  he  was  following  an  older  construc- 
tion, while  Love's  Labour  s  Lost  is  largely  his  own  invention, 
and  though  later  is  structurally  feebler,  but  in  characterization 
is  superior.  In  itself,  it  seems  to  me  more  natural  that  the 
dramatist  in  a  first  attempt  should  have  followed  older  lines 
rather  than  have  cut  out  for  himself  comparatively  new  paths. 

Two  plays  of  Plautus  suggested  the  central  episodes — the 
confusion  of  the  two  brothers,  and  the  wife's  dining  with  a 
stranger  while  the  real  husband  beats  in  vain  at  the  door  outside 
for  admittance.  Upon  this  material  seems  to  have  been  built 
the  old  play,  the  Historie  of  Error,  which  Shakespeare  used. 
Though  this  old  play  is  known  only  by  name  and  has  long  since 
disappeared,  we  can  almost  tell  what  it  contained.  It  was 
probably  originally  downright  crude  and  rough  farce,  some  traits 


16      SHAKESPEARE  IN  RECENT  YEARS: 

of  which  have  been  still  retained.  What  Shakespeare  did,  as 
usual,  even  in  his  earliest  period,  was  to  add  new  elements, 
heighten  the  dramatic  appeal,  smooth  roughnesses,  and  tone  down 
violations  of  taste  and  even  of  morals.  The  shrewish  wife  is 
probably  softened  from  a  vixen;  the  whole  courtesan  business, 
no  doubt  elaborated  in  the  original,  is  very  much  condensed,  even 
to  the  point  of  obscurity;  a  stroke  of  genius  adds  another  pair 
of  twin  brothers — the  servants  Dromio — making  the  laughable 
confusion  between  the  two  pairs,  even  as  to  one  another,  intri- 
cate beyond  belief.  I  am,  too,  inclined  to  think,  as  everything 
moves  in  pairs,  that  the  charming  sister,  the  first  of  Shake- 
speare's sensible,  well-balanced  women,  was  also  created  and 
added  by  the  dramatist  as  a  foil  to  the  wife  and  mate  for  the 
brother.  To  distinguish  the  play  further  from  its  old  form  of 
absolute  farce  there  is  introduced  the  framework  of  the  sepa- 
rated parents  and  children  reunited  in  the  end  —  a  trait  curi- 
ously enough  revived  and  elaborated  in  all  the  latest  plays  of 
the  dramatist's  life :  Pericles,  Cymbeline,  Winter's  Tale,  and  The 
Tempest 

For  the  other  two  beginning  comedies — Love's  Labour's 
Lost  and  the  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona — no  original  play  is 
known  to  have  existed.  This,  however,  does  not  preclude  the 
possibility  of  such  older  form,  following  the  general  method  of 
work,  and  I  am  not  sure  but  that  this  was  here  also  the  case.  In 
the  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  there  remains  an  echo  of  an 
older  play,  Felismena,  on  a  related  subject.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  may  be  said  that  perhaps  in  both  these  cases  the 
dramatist  tried  to  invent  his  own  plots.  Both  plays  deal  inci- 
dentally with  theories  of  right  education  —  a  young  man's  the- 
ories— that  you  cannot  educate  away  from  Nature,  but  only  in 
recognition  and  in  restraint  of  Nature's  forces.  Each  is  founded 
upon  methods  of  the  predecessors  of  Shakespeare — John  Lyly 
and  Robert  Greene,  respectively.  Love's  Labour's  Lost  is 
the  best  example  in  Shakespeare  of  the  influence  of  Euphuism 
at  the  same  time  that  it  ridicules  the  extremes  of  Euphuism  and 
preciosities  of  speech  in  the  verbal  extravagances  of  the  preacher, 
the  teacher,  and  the  fantastical  Spaniard  —  extravagances  caught 


HIS  RELATION  TO  HIS   PREDECESSORS        17 

up  and  reflected  ludicrously  by  the  clown  of  the  play.  Allitera- 
tions, balanced  forms  of  speech,  word  plays  in  great  profusion, 
prose  dialogue — all  are  in  the  manner  of  John  Lyly — but  the 
play  echoes,  too,  other  modes.     The  Spaniard  is 

A  man  in  all  the  world's  new  fashion  planted, 
That  hath  a  mint  of  phrases  in  his  brain. 

But  also  the  more  serious  and  poetical  portions  of  Biron  and 
Rosaline,  in  the  company  of  the  King  and  Princess,  are  charac- 
terized by  affectations : 

Taffeta  phrases,  silken  terms  precise, 
Three-piled  hyperboles,  spruce  affectation, 
Figures  pedantical.    .    .    . 

Biron  declares, 

I  do  forswear  them. 

Henceforth  my  wooing  mind  shall  be  express'd 

In  russet  yeas  and  honest  kersey  noes. 

Such  a  comedy  is  evidently  no  comedy  of  character,  but  a 
comedy  of  a  young  man's  brilliant  quips  and  words. 

Controlled  by  the  purists  in  speech,  it  has  become  the  right 
sort  of  thing  since  Professor  Clarence  Child's  admirable  disser- 
tation on  'Euphuism,'  to  limit  the  term  specifically  to  the  qual- 
ities and  appearances  in  Lyly's  work.  But  while  we  may  well 
restrict  the  word  to  this  special  and  technical  sense,  this  usage 
has  brought  with  it  a  considerable  loss.  There  is  needed 
another  term  to  express  the  movement  in  English  speech  at  the 
time — a  necessary  and  on  the  whole  beneficial  movement  both 
in  its  added  refinements  and  in  its  extravagances — a  vogue  which 
Shakespeare's  play  illustrates  as  well  as  condemns.  In  the 
broader  and  more  generic  sense,  Shakespeare's  play  of  Love's 
Labour's  Lost  is  at  once  an  excellent  example  of  the  traits  of  a 
very  real  movement  in  the  history  of  English  speech  at  its  finest, 
and  a  ridiculing  of  the  same  thing  at  its  worst  The  very  con- 
sciousness of  this,  further  inclines  me  to  give  a  slightly  later  date 
to  the  play  than  is  customary — and  so  to  make  it  the  second,  or 
even  more  probably,  the  third,  rather  than  the  first  of  Shake- 
speare's comedies.  The  play  is  important  as  bearing  upon  the 
3 


18      SHAKESPEARE  IN  RECENT  YEARS: 

future  development  of  Shakespeare's  art ;  but  especially  so  as 
illustrative  of  the  dramatist's  susceptibility  to  the  influences  of 
the  times. 

No  less  does  the  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  show  a  similar 
following  of  a  fashion.  This  play  is  Shakespeare's  first  charac- 
teristically romantic  play,  as  the  wretched,  but  sweetly  lyrical, 
Robert  Greene  had  developed  it  before  him.  The  reviewer  in 
The  Nation,  of  Mr.  Churton  Collins' s  new  edition  of  Greene,  has 
questioned  Mr.  Collins's  statement  of  Shakespeare's  indebted- 
ness to  Greene  on  the  ground  that  it  was  nowhere  to  be  proved. 
Maybe  not.  And  yet  I  have  long  entertained  the  opinion  that 
I  found  Mr.  Collins  holds,  and  must  beg  to  dissent  from  the  re- 
viewers who  demand  mathematical  demonstration.  The  roman- 
tic tangle  of  Love  versus  Friendship,  the  faithlessness  and  the 
reconciliation,  the  disguises  of  the  lady  as  a  boy  page  (already  to 
be  found  in  Lyly),  the  Robin  Hood-like  outlaws,  the  absurdly 
weak  ending — not  caring  how  the  play  closed  and  who  married 
whom,  so  long  as  the  characters  stood  in  pairs  and  effective 
groups  for  the  ringing  down  of  the  curtain  —  all  these  are  traits 
which  recall  qualities  of  Greene's  work  and  tell  of  a  poetical 
Shakespeare  near  the  beginning  of  his  art  Robert  Greene  was 
too  positive  a  genius  and  prominent  a  figure  for  as  skillful  an 
adapter  as  William  Shakespeare,  beginner,  wholly  to  pass  by. 

The  beginnings  of  Shakespearean  tragedy  contain  an  even 
more  instructive  example  of  these  origins.  The  Tragedy  of 
Blood,  so  offensive  to  our  nostrils  and  feeling,  was  a  favorite 
product  of  Elizabeth's  time.  It  was  the  physical  as  well  as  the 
psychical  outcome  of  long  decades  of  internecine  war  and  reli- 
gious persecution  preceding  Henry  VIII's,  Edward's,  Mary's, 
and  Elizabeth's  reigns.  Nor  has  the  Anglo-Saxon  mind  ever 
wholly  outgrown  it.  Our  popular  melodrama  to-day — the-villain- 
still-pursued-her  sort  of  plot — also  the  violent  imaginings  of  child- 
ren, even  the  background  of  a  play  like  the  much-talked-of  Great 
Divide,  by  Mr.  Moody,  are  direct  descendants  and  are  of  a 
kind.  It  is  of  pirates  on  the  high  seas  and  scalping  Indians, 
bold  banditti,  they  play.  This  sentence,  already  penned,  has 
found    delightful    confirmation    in  the  children's  extravaganza, 


HIS   RELATION   TO   HIS   PREDECESSORS        19 

Peter  Pan,  by  Mr.  Barrie,  as  played  for  two  seasons  in  New 
York  by  Miss  Maude  Adams.  Its  appeal  is  essentially  based 
upon  fundamental  and  universal  traits.  A  tub  of  water  may  be- 
come the  ocean  and  a  few  chips  and  splinters  rival  navies  afloat 
This  is  the  explanation  of  the  success  of  the  penny-dreadful  and 
the  old-fashioned  dime  novel,  now  adulterated  and,  like  many 
other  food  products,  marked  down  to  a  nickel. 

Titus  Andronicus  is  the  first  pure  tragedy  associated  with 
Shakespeare's  name.  In  details  it  is  an  unrelieved  story  of 
bloodshed  and  cruelty  and  horror,  after  the  manner  of  the  old 
tragedies  of  Seneca,  so  popular  in  the  mind  of  the  Renaissance 
and  so  abhorrent  to  us  of  to-day.  There  is  murder,  revenge, 
supernatural  agency,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  the  species. 
To  an  unprepared  mind,  which  does  not  know  the  type,  the  play 
is  simply  awful — it  reeks  with  blood,  and  strong  tastes  must 
those  sixteenth  century  Englishmen  have  had  to  accept  and 
digest  such  meat  Many  have  doubted  that  Shakespeare,  who 
later  shows  such  rare  delicacy  in  handling  disagreeable  subjects, 
could  possibly,  even  in  the  crude  periods  of  youth,  have  written 
Titus  Andronicus.  Like  Falstaff,  they  argue,  his  'instinct' 
would  have  preserved  him.  But  contrary  to  former  opinions, 
which  compared  the  play  only  with  Shakespeare's  later  work,  in- 
dependent of  its  evolution  and  surroundings,  it  is  now  gen- 
erally believed  that  Titus  Andronicus  is  Shakespeare's  in  this 
sense:  it  is  an  old  play  worked  over  and  given  new  form  by  him. 
Its  very  extravagances  bear  the  hallmark  of  his  early  period.  Do 
you  wish  a  bloody  tragedy?  —  and  sporting  Kyd  and  Kit  Mar- 
lowe had  made  the  species  a  fine  thing  of  thrill  and  shudder, 
with  suicide,  murder,  rape,  and  ghosts.  Do  you,  too,  want  a 
bloody  tragedy,  he  seems  to  say  to  his  theatre  manager,  and 
break  up  the  rival  show  across  the  street?  I  shall  let  the  blood 
flow  in  gallons. 

There  was  more  than  one  play  on  the  subject  You  observe 
the  Roman  title  —  for  Englishmen  flattered  themselves  by  locat- 
ing the  scenes  of  horrible  plays  in  other  lands  than  their  own. 
The  dramatist  subjects  this  material  to  the  process  already  de- 
scribed.    An  old  German  version  and  a  Dutch  version  have  been 


20      SHAKESPEARE  IN  RECENT  YEARS: 

discovered  —  for  the  English  actors  were  very  popular  on  the 
Continent,  in  Holland  and  Germany  and  Austria,  and  carried 
these  plays  over  with  them.  From  these  two  Continental  plays 
we  can  tell  pretty  well  what  the  old  play  must  have  been  like  and 
what  were  Shakespeare's  personal  contributions.  "The  main 
features  of  the  Shakespearean  play  which  cannot  be  proved  to 
have  existed  in  the  earlier  dramas,  are  the  rivalry  between  Sat- 
urninus  and  Bassianus  for  the  throne ;  the  funeral  of  Titus's 
sons  killed  in  war;  the  sacrifice  of  Alarbus;  the  kidnapping 
of  Lavinia  by  Bassianus,  with  the  death  of  Mutius;  the  sending 
of  young  Lucius  with  presents  to  the  sons  of  Tamora;  and  the 
banquet  scene  in  III,  ii,  which  appears  only  in  the  first  folio  and 
is  perhaps  a  later  addition." — [Neilson]. 

Leave  out,  if  you  can,  in  imagination,  the  foundation  of  the 
horrible  plot  which  is  not  Shakespeare's.  Accepting  that  —  and 
there  is  proof  that  it  was  popular  with  strong  Elizabethan  tastes 
— what  would  naturally  a  young  poet  make  of  it?  You  will 
observe  at  once  the  bountiful  references  to  Nature  and  animal 
life,  and  the  richness  of  poetic  allusion.     For  instance  : 

Fresh  tears  stood  on  her  cheeks,  as  doth  the  honey-dew 
Upon  a  gathered  lily  almost  wither'd. 

Not  the  least  good  line  is  the  one  instanced  by  Burke  in  his 
Essay  on  the  Sublime  and  the  Beautiful : 

When  will  this  fearful  slumber  have  an  end  ? 

Historically,  Titus  Andronicus  is  very  important  in  Shake- 
spearean evolution.  It  is  a  link  between  the  murders  and  hor- 
rors of  Kyd's  Spanish  Tragedy  and  the  poet's  own  stupen- 
dous production  of  Hatnlet  in  the  plenitude  of  his  powers, 
when  he  never  worked  better.  For  Hamlet  belongs  in  every 
point  of  its  origin  to  the  type  of  the  Tragedy  of  Blood.  It  is 
based  upon  an  older  play,  Hamlet,  in  the  method  described, 
and  was  due  to  a  second  revival  of  this  species  of  bloody  tragedy 
about  1600,  midway  in  Shakespeare's  career.  Only  the  mature 
dramatist  was  prepared  to  make  full  use  of  his  opportunity 
which  he  did  not  and  could  not  before.  This  lost  original 
Hamlet  play  is  often  referred  to,  and  there  can  be  no  doubt 


HIS   RELATION  TO  HIS  PREDECESSORS        -1 

of  its  existence.  It  seems  very  likely  that  it  was  one  of  Kyd's 
productions,  and  it  became  the  laughing-stock  and  butt  of  actors 
who  ridiculed  its  absurd  ghost  crying  like  a  fish-wife,  "  Hamlet, 
Revenge!"  This  unpromising  material  Shakespeare  seems  to 
have  taken  hold  of  in  the  very  wantonness  of  conscious  mastery. 
We  almost  fancy  him  saying :  See  this  fashion  which  is  again 
current,  observe  this  despised  thing ;  and  look  at  the  rival  con- 
cern across  the  street,  with  the  flaring  tallow-dips  and  burning 
tapers,  trying  to  attract  custom  from  us  with  a  sensational  play. 
This  thing  you  have  laughed  at,  I  shall  make  you  pause  over.  I 
see  in  it,  ghost  and  all,  not  a  tissue  of  absurdities,  but  possible 
agonizings  which  even  question  existence.  Here  it  is — this  is 
a  play — a  Tragedy  of  Blood,  as  it  can  be.  Here  is  your  ghost 
— preserved,  and  a  real  live  one  —  though  so  cloaked  about  that, 
when  at  last  he  enters,  you  may  well  doubt,  even  in  the  First 
Act,  his  actual  existence  to  any  but  Hamlet's  excited  brain. 
Here  are  adultery,  murder,  madness,  suicide,  and  deaths  galore. 
I  have  let  the  curtain  fall  on  a  charnel  house. 

All  are  dead  and  murdered  at  the  close,  a  full  house :  a  sorry 
knave,  Polonius,  and  his  son  and  daughter ;  a  King  and  a  Queen, 
the  father,  "Hyperion  to  a  Satyr,"  and  Hamlet,  "Take  him  for 
all  in  all,  we  shall  not  look  upon  his  like  again."  Horatio  alone 
remains : 

Absent  thee  from  felicity  awhile 

And  in  this  harsh  world  draw  thy  breath  in  pain 

To  tell  my  story.    .    .    . 

begs  the  dying  Hamlet  And  his  friend  replies  with  a  prescience 
of  a  better  world,  rare  in  Shakespeare's  lines,  who,  absorbed  in 
portraying  his  characters,  conceals  any  personal  thoughts  of  his 
own: 

Now  cracks  a  noble  heart.    Good  night,  sweet  prince, 

And  flights  of  angels  sing  thee  to  thy  rest 

Mr.  Bradley  has  happily  remarked:  "It  is  just  what  Hamlet 
never  had  and  most  needs — Rest!" 

Let  a  college  freshman,  as  I  experience  almost  every  year,  tell 
in  his  own  words  the  unadorned  plot  and  story  of  Hamlet — 
relieved  of  its  magic  of  poetry  and  its  depth  of  complex  charac- 


22      SHAKESPEARE  IN  RECENT  YEARS: 

terization  —  and  you  would  still  ridicule  its  possibilities,  as  much 
as  the  playwrights  of  old.  Read  the  play  for  yourself  even 
despite  this  discouragement  and  distaste  for  literature  your  own 
students  sometimes  conspire  to  give  you,  and  there  is  a  feeling 
of  awe — the  purging  pity  and  terror  of  Aristotle's  definition. 
You  have  forgot  the  adultery,  the  blood-letting,  the  madness, 
and  the  suicide,  the  ghost  and  the  deaths ;  you  are  left  pondering 
over  a  tragedy  of  human  character  and  human  will.  This  tragic 
woe  is  not  of  the  fall  of  Thebes  or  Pelops  line,  caused  from  with- 
out ;  but  the  action  and  emotions  of  character  spring  from  with- 
in the  man  himself  and  determine  destiny.  This  is  the  trans- 
formation that  is  wrought  by  this  maker  of  modern  tragedy. 

The  two  narrative  poems,  Venus  and  Adonis  and  Lucrece, 
were  just  as  imitative  of  a  general  manner  and  just  as  supe- 
rior to  that  manner  in  their  special  characteristics.  They  were 
both  dedicated  to  the  Earl  of  Southampton  in  very  interest- 
ing prose  dedications  signed  by  Shakespeare  and  revealing  an 
intimate  personal  touch.  Into  both  the  youthful  poet  threw 
himself  with  accustomed  ardor.  Both  poems  doubtless  had  their 
origin  in  the  demand  of  the  young  dandies  about  town,  to  the 
company  of  whom  the  young  Earl  belonged.  In  the  sixteenth 
century,  when  Venus  and  Adonis  appeared,  it  was  thought  to 
be  a  very  pretty  poem,  and  was  so  popular,  it  is  said,  that  men 
went  to  sleep  with  the  volume  under  their  heads.  In  the  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  centuries,  by  a  change  in  taste,  the  poem 
came  to  be  thought  immoral.  Its  latest  editor,  Mr.  Sidney 
Lee,  takes  literally  the  statement  "the  first  heire  of  my  inven- 
tion," and  assigns  the  composition  back  to  the  Stratford  days  of 
the  young  poet.  Personally,  I  must  think  that  the  phrase  refers 
to  the  first  endeavor  of  this  kind  that  the  poet  had  attempted — 
a  continued  narrative  poem,  as  distinguished  from  his  miscel- 
laneous work  and  totally  different  dramatic  performance  based 
upon  older  material.  The  poem  thus  seems  to  me  to  belong  to 
the  period  of  early  comedy  and  tragedy  and  to  be  blended  with 
the  spirit  of  both — a  typical  production  of  a  luxuriant  and  youth- 
ful poetic  imagination. 

In  our  own  superior  and  analytical  generation,  instead  of  exu- 


HIS    RELATION   TO    HIS    PREDECESSORS         23 

berant  poems,  we  have  portentous  examples  of  fiction  like  "Jude 
the  Obscure,"  written  by  middle-aged  men,  without  illusions — 
this  novel,  indeed,  appearing  as  a  serial  in  a  popular  American 
family  magazine  designed  for  home  consumption.  Perhaps  some 
day  this,  too,  may  not  be  thought  the  healthiest  reading  virgin- 
ibus  puerisque. 

The  early  Sonnets  were  all  equally  imitative  of  a  fashion.  Mr. 
Sidney  Lee  has  done  yeoman's  service  in  unearthing  the  history 
and  showing  the  vogue  of  the  sonnet  in  Italy,  in  France,  and  in 
England.  Likewise  I  can  refer  to  an  admirable  paper  on  the 
same  subject,  Foreign  Influences  on  Shakespeare' s  Sonnets, 
by  Mr.  David  Klein,  which  was  edited  and  published  in  The 
Sewanee  Review  a  little  more  than  two  years  ago.  In  these 
sonnets,  Shakespeare  unquestionably  follows  admitted  conven- 
tions. Every  one  of  the  conceits  and  imagined  situations  may 
be  duplicated.  We  need  not  be  at  all  surprised,  for  we  have 
already  found  the  same  thing  in  the  Plays.  But,  as  before,  there 
is  also  something  more  to  be  said.  The  sonnet  love  sequence 
had  its  great  prototype  in  England  in  Sir  Philip  Sidney's 
Astrophel  and  Stella,  and  noble  as  some  of  Sidney's  sonnets 
are,  tested  as  a  sequence  and  individually,  they  fall  immeasurably 
below  Shakespeare's.  Again  he  dares  the  thing  most  in  vogue 
and  does  it  better.  In  neither  Sidney's  nor  Shakespeare's  case 
does  it  make  much  difference  whether  these  poems  were  tran- 
scripts of  actual  personal  experience  and  suffering  or  not 
Shakespeare  was  a  poet  and  dramatist,  and  he  was  more  intense 
in  his  imagination,  more  powerful  in  his  intellectuality,  more 
true  in  his  emotions  than  others  of  his  predecessors  and  contem- 
poraries. Rich  imagination  and  ripe  experience  were  needed 
for  the  full-blooded  tragedies ;  and  while  the  Sonnets  are  notably 
unequal  in  merit,  something  of  the  same  maturity  rings  out  in 
the  notes  of  the  greatest  of  them. 

I  merely  illustrate  the  magic  of  some  of  these  lines,  familiar 
and  always  deserving  of  repetition.     Take  the  one  beginning: 

Full  many  a  glorious  morning  have  I  seen.  .  .  . 
Gilding  pale  streams  with  heavenly  alchemy. 
or, 


24      SHAKESPEARE  IN  RECENT  YEARS: 

When  I  have  seen  by  Time's  fell  hand  defaced 
The  rich  proud  cost  of  outworn  buried  age, 
When  sometime  lofty  towers  I  see  down-razed 
And  brass  eternal  slave  to  mortal  rage; 
When  I  have  seen  the  hungry  ocean  gain 
Advantage  on  the  kingdom  of  the  shore, 
And  the  firm  soil  win  of  the  watery  main 
Increasing  store  with  loss  and  loss  with  store. 

Or  take  this  splendid  quatrain  with  its  great  fourth  line: 

That  time  of  year  thou  may'st  in  me  behold 
When  yellow  leaves,  or  none,  or  few,  do  hang 
Upon  those  boughs  which  shake  against  the  cold, 
Bare  ruin'd  choirs,  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sang. 

As  I  go  about  the  abundant  woods  ofourSewanee  Mountain, 
after  late  October's  and  early  November's  turning  of  the  foliage 
and  the  falling  of  leaves  typical  of  the  fall  of  all  of  us,  and  I  look 
at  the  traceries  of  limbs  and  twigs,  "with  old  December's  bare- 
ness everywhere,"  as  the  Sonnet  has  it,  suggesting  in  an  aca- 
demic environment  the  Gothic  architecture  of  adjoining  choir 
stalls,  the  line  recurs  with  a  new  meaning: 

Bare  ruin'd  choirs,  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sang. 

Finally,  take  this  splendid  example: 

When  in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  men's  eyes 

I  all  alone  beweep  my  outcast  state, 

And  trouble  deaf  heaven  with  my  bootless  cries 

And  look  upon  myself  and  curse  my  fate, 

Wishing  me  like  to  one  more  rich  in  hope, 

Featured  like  him,  like  him  with  friends  possess'd, 

Desiring  this  man's  art  and  that  man's  scope, 

With  what  I  most  enjoy  contented  least; 

Yet  in  these  thoughts  myself  almost  despising, 

Haply  I  think  on  thee,  and  then  my  state, 

Like  to  the  lark  at  break  of  day  arising 

From  sullen  earth,  sings  hymns  at  heaven's  gate ; 

For  thy  sweet  love  remember'd  such  wealth  brings 

That  then  I  scorn  to  change  my  state  with  kings. 

To  me  Shakespeare's  personality  and  art,  while  following  ac- 
cepted forms,  burst  beyond  the  mere  shell  and  husk  of  these 
forms.  These  poems  may  be  exercises  —  and  it  is  interesting  to 
know  historically  what  were  the  conventions  and  types  which  the 


HIS   RELATION  TO   HIS   PREDECESSORS         25 

poet  followed  —  but  also  in  such  studies  we  must  take  heed  to 
remember  that  on  this  same  instrument  it  was  a  new  and  a  very 
real  poet  piping. 

That  I  have  entertained  no  reference  to  the  Baconian  and  re- 
lated theories  of  Shakespearean  authorship  will  be  better  under- 
stood at  this  juncture.  The  theory  had  its  origin  in  America, 
and  has  always  been  extremely  popular  in  this  country,  and  lat- 
terly has  become  so  in  Germany.  The  latest  book  on  the  sub- 
ject, I  believe,  is  one  by  Herr  Professor  Karl  Bleibtreu,  who 
seeks  the  authorship  of  the  plays  not  in  Bacon,  but  in  the  com- 
paratively unknown  Earl  of  Rutland. 

The  man  who  wrote  these  Sonnets,  the  early  narrative  poems, 
the  plays  —  histories,  comedies,  and  tragedies — was  all  of  a 
piece.  It  is  literally  inconceivable,  to  my  mind,  that  he  should 
have  written  the  Novum  Organum  and  Magna  Instauratio  or  the 
"  Essays  "  or  have  been  deprived  of  a  justiceship  for  avarice — all 
of  which  seems,  too,  of  quite  another  piece.  If  there  be  such  a 
thing  as  personality  of  the  author,  surely  the  thoughts,  emo- 
tions, and  expressions  of  the  greatest  figure  in  modern  literature 
must  be  such  a  psychological  entity.  Else  all  canons  of  literary 
criticism  fail! 

In  the  present  paper  I  have  sought  to  reveal  this  personality 
at  the  beginning  of  each  literary  species  and  suggest  how,  work- 
ing in  its  special  environment,  it  was  evolved  normally  by  the 
successful  imitation  of  others'  example  and  the  gradual  trans- 
cending of  others'  work.  In  a  remaining  paper  I  shall  endeavor 
to  ascertain  some  of  the  traits  of  this  personality  as  revealed 
in  its  later  work,  and  particularly  at  its  fullest  in  The  Themes 
of  Tragedy. 


II. 

Shakespeare  in  Recent  Years: 
The  Themes  of  Tragedy 


From  The  Sewanee  Review, 
April,  1908 


SHAKESPEARE   IN   RECENT  YEARS: 
II.  THE  THEMES  OF  TRAGEDY 

ANY  discussion  of  Shakespearean  tragedy  that  contained  no 
./V  reference  to  the  dramatist's  humor  would  be  blind,  indeed, 
to  the  genius  of  the  man.  He  is  the  one  great  master  of  Tragedy 
who  at  the  same  time  is  also  a  master  of  Humor  and  Comedy. 
He  is  the  creator  of  Falstaff  as  well  as  of  Hamlet;  and  what  a 
difference  in  the  two  worlds !  In  this  I  think  no  figure  in  liter- 
ature quite  approaches  him,  unless,  indeed,  it  be  old  Homer, 
who  certainly  has  elements  of  both  pity  and  laughter.  But  is 
it  still  believed  generally,  with  Mr.  Andrew  Lang,  that  the 
Iliad  and  the  Odyssey  can  be  strictly  contemporaneous  and 
works  by  one  and  the  same  mind  ?  It  is  one  reason  why  the 
name  Homer  stands  alone  in  its  lofty  majesty  as  representa- 
tive of  a  great  ancient  civilization  and  art  Good  'Maister 
Chaucer'  united  the  same  elements  of  humor  and  pathos  in  his 
dramatic  Tales,  and  this  is  why  Chaucer,  in  the  annals  of  Eng- 
lish poetry,  in  breadth  of  vision  and  insight,  comes  nearest  to 
Shakespeare.  The  great  Goethe  conceived  the  scene  in  Auer- 
bach's  Keller,  as  well  as  the  Temptation  and  Prison  Scene  in 
Faust  \  he  transmuted  folksongs  and  wrote  the  idyllic  Her- 
mann und  Dorothea  as  well  as  the  classic  Iphigenia ;  he 
produced  the  romantic  Sorrows  of  Werther  as  well  as  the 
realistic  Elective  Affinities  and  the  philosophical  biography 
of  Wilhelm  Meister  as  well  as  the  genial  Autobiography. 
We  may  not  call  Milton  humorous,  but  he  gave  us  the  idyllic 
grace  and  charm  of  L Allegro  and  //  Penseroso,  the  lyric 
perfection  of  Lycidas,  and  the  ringing  moral  enthusiasm  of  the 
Sonnets  to  set  over  against  the  larger  epic  flights  of  Paradise 
Lost.  Byron,  when  he  felt  the  immensity  of  nature,  or  pon- 
dered over  "the  glory  that  was  Greece  and  the  grandeur  that 
was  Rome,"  wrote  a  canto  of  Childe  Harold ;  when  his  errant 
mood  altered  to  the  flippant  and  cynical  and  farcical,  he  added 
another  set  of  stanzas  to  Don  Juan,  the  greatest  burlesque 
poem  in  our  literature. 


30     SHAKESPEARE  IN  RECENT  YEARS: 

But  if  we  name  other  English  poets,  we  are  too  apt  to  be  re- 
minded of  one  dominant  characteristic  note  alone,  however  res- 
onant and  stirring.  We  name  Spenser,  and  we  think  of  the 
poet  of  the  Faerie  Queene  and  the  Marriage  Hymns.  We  name 
Herrick,  and  we  mean  the  sweets  of  paganism  — 

....  of  brooks,  of  blossoms,  birds  and  bowers 
Of  April,  May,  of  June  and  July  flowers ; 
....  of  may-poles,  hock-carts,  wassails,  wakes, 
Of  bride-grooms,  brides,  and  of  their  bridal  cakes. 

We  name  Dryden,  and  we  think  of  the  heroic  couplet  in  satire 
and  of  the  Odes  for  Music  —  wherein  "he  raised  a  mortal  to  the 
skies"  and  which  almost  lifted  "Honest  John  "  into  a  higher 
class.  We  name  Pope,  we  think  of  the  same  heroic  couplet 
brought  to  an  even  finer  polish  in  Satires  and  Epistles.  We 
name  Burns,  we  think  of  the  most  natural  lyrical  poet  of  the 
race.  We  name  Wordsworth,  it  is  of  the  joy  in  nature,  of  the 
simple  in  life,  of  an  effluence  shed  down  from  above  on  common 
things,  of  a  high  reflectiveness  and  a  deep  moral  earnestness- 
We  name  Coleridge,  it  is  of  the  witchery  of  the  supernatural. 
We  name  Shelley,  it  is  of  "the  longing  of  the  moth  for  the  star." 
We  name  Keats,  it  is  that 

Beauty  is  truth;  truth,  beauty — that  is  all 
Ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need  to  know. 

To  paraphrase  Mr.  Watts-Dunton:  These  with  their  one  voice 
can  sing  one  tune  or  in  fortunate  cases  with  one  voice  can  sing 
many  tunes.  But  when  we  name  names  like  Homer  and  Shake- 
speare, "having,  like  the  nightingale  of  Gongora,  many  voices, 
[they]  seem  to  be  able  to  sing  all  tunes." 

The  steady  growth  of  Shakespeare's  dramatic  powers  and 
poetic  genius  which  lead  up  to  the  highest  themes  of  tragedy  is 
perhaps  best  seen  just  in  the  early  plays,  usually  comedies. 

In  structure  you  observe  how  the  early  plays  portray  their 
characters  in  groups  and  by  their  external  situation,  and  not  by 
inward  traits  as  later.  In  the  Comedy  of  Errors,  for  instance, 
there  are  two  brothers  and  two  Dromios,  two  sisters  contrasted 
in  disposition  who  mate  with  the  two  brothers,  two  parents  sep- 


THE    THEMES     OF    TRAGEDY  31 

arated  and  reunited.  In  Love's  Labour's  Lost  the  grouping 
goes  by  threei:  there  is  a  king  and  three  gentlemen  together 
with  a  princess  and  three  ladies  to  fall  in  love  with  each  other; 
three  oddities  —  the  fantastical  Spaniard,  the  pedagogue  and  the 
preacher — and  three  lower  representatives:  Costard,  Moth  and 
Dull.  In  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  two  gentlemen  are  con- 
trasted, two  ladies  are  crossed,  and  two  suitors  rejected.  Chief- 
est  of  all,  two  clowns  are  differentiated:  humorous  Launce  with 
his  dog,  and  witty  Speed  with  his  verbal  quips — the  fathers  of 
all  Shakespeare's  later  clowns  and  fools. 

And  what  clowns  they  are  !  Launcelot  Gobbo  —  a  distant 
relation  and  namesake  of  Launce' s — the  blundering  Dogberry, 
the  philosophical  Touchstone,  the  merry  Feste,  to  the  dear  fool 
in  Lear  who  went  to  bed  at  noon  and  didn't  wake  up  because 
there  was  no  longer  need  for  him  in  the  play.  English  and 
American  humor  have  developed  very  differently  and  each  has 
its  own  special  national  flavor,  but  in  any  discussion  as  to  the 
English  sense  of  humor,  towards  which  we  Americans  are  apt 
to  be  unfair  because  very  different  from  our  own,  we  may  remem- 
ber that  English  literature  posesses  Chaucer,  Shakespeare, 
Swift,  Fielding,  Sterne,  Goldsmith,  Lamb,  Jane  Austen, 
Dickens,  Thackeray — and  in  these  qualities,  too,  Shakespeare 
and  Chaucer  easily  lead. 

In  Midsummer  Nights  Dream  three  distinct  threads  are 
interwoven:  those  of  the  Court,  the  base  and  rude  Mechanicals, 
and  the  Fairies.  At  Court  there  are  again  two  pairs  of  lovers 
crossed  and  recrossed,  which  finds  a  contrasting  echo  in  Titania's 
dream.  The  structure,  with  all  its  deftness,  is  still  based  upon 
balance  and  antithesis.  The  contemporary  tragedy  of  youth, 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  has  two  factions,  two  gentlemen  in  pursuit 
of  the  same  lady,  two  principal  adherents,  and  the  so-called 
'comic'  figures,  Mercutio  and  the  Nurse — a  companion  each 
for  the  hero  and  the  heroine. 

But  in  none  of  these  earlier  plays  is  there  any  specially  deep 
insight  or  keen  portrayal  of  character.  There  is  what  you  ex- 
pect to  find  in  the  work  of  youth:  sparkle,  plays  on  words,  witty 
repartee.     However,  in  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  a  growing 


32  SHAKESPEARE    IN    RECENT   YEARS: 

change  is  apparent.  While  still  lacking  in  dramatic  character- 
ization, this  play  shows  advance  in  the  exercise  of  both  poetic 
fancy  and  imagination.  The  three  threads  are  skillfully  inter- 
twined to  make  a  perfect  pattern.  The  play  has  a  lyrical  tone 
which  produces  an  operatic  effect.  It  is  fanciful  and  is  charm- 
ingly poetic  in  the  interpretation  of  these  fancies.  It  also  con- 
tains Shakespeare's  first  conscious  poetic  creed  : 

The  lunatic,  the  lover  and  the  poet 

Are  of  imagination  all  compact  .... 

The  poet's  eye  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling 

Doth  glance  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven, 

And  as  imagination  bodies  forth 

The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 

Turns  them  to  shapes  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 

A  local  habitation  and  a  name. 

Yet  with  all  its  poetry — indeed,  in  its  very  enthusiasm  for 
poetry  and  its  luxuriance  of  fancy — Midsummer  Night's 
Dream  is  still  the  comedy  of  a  young  man.  The  folk-  and  fairy- 
lore  is  delightful  and  convincing.  We  may  not  easily  believe  in 
the  transformations  of  a  Comedy  of  Errors  at  Ephesus,  but 
we  can  believe  those  in  Midsummer  Nights  Dream  caused 
by  the  family  quarrels  of  Oberon  and  Titania,  King  and  Queen 
of  Fairyland.  The  author  of  Midsummer  Nights  Dream, 
even  better  than  the  playwright  in  Peter  Pan,  so  happily  pre- 
sented by  Miss  Maude  Adams  for  two  seasons  in  New  York, 
might  ask  the  audience:  "Good  people,  do  you  believe  in 
fairies?"     Of  course  we  do,  imaginatively  and  poetically. 

Not  only  is  this  play  conscious  poetry,  but  in  "the  play  within 
the  play" — "the  most  lamentable  comedy  of  Py ramus  and  This- 
by" — the  poet  has  something  to  say  of  his  art  as  playwright 
Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  at  the  absurdities  of  which  we  laugh  so 
heartily,  could  not  have  been  very  different  from  the  crude  plays 
then  and  still  presented  by  the  English  house-servants.  We 
know  that  within  the  sound  of  the  whirring  trolley-car  London 
mummers  still  give  presentations  of  St.  George  and  the  Turkish 
Champion.  Mr.  Thomas  Hardy  has  a  vivid  portrayal  of  such  a 
play  in  the  pages  of  one  of  his  strongest  novels,  "The  Return  of 
the  Native."     And  what  marvels  may  we  not  still  see  in   the 


THE    THEMES    OF    TRAGEDY  33 

amateur  theatricals  of  small  towns  and  schools !  As  for  Bully 
Bottom,  whose  "chief  humour  is  for  a  tyrant — or  a  part  to  tear 
a  cat  in,  to  make  all  split,"  and  who  has  the  ambition  to  play 
every  part  at  once,  he  anticipates  in  genuine  humor  the  univer- 
sal genius  of  Falstaff,  equal  to  all  situations.  In  the  Pyramus  and 
Thisbe  story  itself,  after  making  us  laugh  at  its  ludicrousness, 
Shakespeare  seems  to  have  said:  "You  laugh,  do  you?  I  shall 
take  the  same  catastrophe  of  two  lovers  and  make  you  thrill.  The 
lover  shall  again  think  his  lady  dead,  and  shall  do  himself  to  death, 
and  she,  discovering  this,  shall  die  too  at  his  side  —  and  this  play 
I  shall  call  not  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  but  Romeo  and  Juliet." 

In  the  Merchant  of  Venice  Shakespeare  has  freed  himself 
from  the  powerful  influence,  hitherto  so  marked,  of  his  great 
predecessor,  Marlowe.  The  subject  was  suggested  by  Marlowe's 
Jew  of  Ma/ta,  but  the  difference  in  the  portrayal  is  that  be- 
tween a  monster  and  a  human  soul.  The  dramatist  is  getting 
away  from  the  mere  grouping  of  characters.  He  is  growing 
both  in  poetic  expression  and  in  dramatic  grasp,  in  insight  and 
in  interpretation  of  character.  Shakespeare  again  took  an  old 
plot,  perhaps  an  old  play.  He  probably  started  out  with  the 
intention  of  making  the  Jew  grotesque  and  ridiculous  after  the 
pattern  of  the  cheater  cheated,  which  was  the  common  Eliza- 
bethan attitude  toward  one  of  the  race.  If  so,  the  character  out- 
grew the  author's  original  intentions.  Shakespeare's  dramatic 
imagination  is  here  at  work,  and  far  from  remaining  a  comic 
figure,  of  which  there  are  many  suggestions,  Shylock  grows  real 
under  the  dramatist's  hands  and  is  the  psychological  prototype  of 
those  stupendous  later  creations :  Hamlet,  Othello,  Iago,  Lear, 
Macbeth  and  Cleopatra.  All  these  are  conceived  as  great  figures 
of  tragedy;  and  Shylock,  too,  is  really  a  creature  of  tragedy. 
Tragedy  is  here,  as  later,  a  spiritual  conception.  The  poet's 
imagination  ran  away  with  him  and  the  play  assumes  tragic  pro- 
portions in  the  fourth  act  We  in  turn  have  become  wrought  up 
and  are  not  satisfied  at  Shylock's  merely  disappearing.  We  are 
only  half-reconciled  by  the  delicious  music  and  moonlight  of 
runaway  Jessica  in  the  fifth  act  of  anticlimax.  We  are  assured 
by  Lorenzo : 

4 


34      SHAKESPEARE  IN  RECENT  YEARS: 

The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself 
Nor  is  not  moved  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems  and  spoils;  .... 
Let  no  such  man  be  trusted. 

Yes !  yes !  that  is  all  very  well,  we  feel,  but  where  all  this 
time  is  the  father-in-law,  Shylock?  Not  all  the  world  is  on  a 
honeymoon.  This  very  lack  of  inner  symmetry  declares  the 
Merchant  of  Venice  to  be  a  great  play  of  a  comparative  beginner. 

In  Shakespeare's  one  tragedy  of  this  period,  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  Mercutio,  who  approaches  a  merry  figure  in  a  sad  recital 
and  whose  description  of  Queen  Mab  is  the  very  ecstasy  of  folk- 
lore madness,  is  stabbed  in  a  duel.  He  becomes  serious  only  in 
the  last  moment:  "Why  the  devil  came  you  between  us?"  he 
cries  to  Romeo,  "I  was  hurt  under  your  arm."  And  then  comes 
one  of  ill-starred  Romeo's  characteristic  replies:  "I  thought  all 
for  the  best."  But  Mercutio  was  no  longer  needed  in  the  plot 
and  his  removal  was  in  accord  with  dramatic  laws.  Such  a  gal- 
lant was  bound  to  die  that  way  sooner  or  later — by  an  accident ! 
Shakespeare  dramatically  makes  use  of  such  accidents,  for  they 
occur  in  real  life.  It  is  such  an  accident  that  Desdemona  drops 
the  handkerchief  at  the  one  moment  Iago  can  pick  it  up  and  do 
her  harm.  There  is  consequently  nothing  inherently  improba- 
ble in  the  circumstance  of  Mercutio's  fate.  It  is  characteristic 
and  necessary.  The  jester  is  out  of  the  way  for  the  more  seri- 
ous business  of  the  tragedy  of  the  lovers.  Mercutio's  death  by 
Tybalt  is  the  direct  cause  of  Tybalt's  death  by  Romeo,  and  that 
of  Romeo's  banishment,  and  that  of  the  ultimate  tragedy  in  the 
tomb.  It  is  another  accident,  but  again  nowise  inherently  im- 
probable, that  Juliet  wakes  a  few  moments  too  late  and  finds 
her  lover  dead  beside  her.  But  in  the  Merchant  of  Venice  we 
were  simply  asked  to  forget  that  Shylock,  the  hateful  old  thing, 
exists,  and  we  betake  ourselves  at  once  to  moonlight  and  music 
and  bussing  bridal  pairs.  No  wonder  Shylock  has  found  sym- 
pathizers at  being  stuck  away  in  a  dark  closet  to  say  Ave  Marias. 

In  the  intermediate  plays,  for  our  purpose  here,  but  one  point 
need  be  emphasized.  It  is  in  Henry  IV.  The  growing  hu- 
manity, already  displayed  in  Shylock  and  to  be  fully  realized 


THE    THEMES    OF   TRAGEDY  36 

in  the  later  conceptions  of  tragedy,  is  also  displayed,  though 
very  differently,  in  Falstaff.  Falstaff  is  thoroughly  a  creature 
of  the  senses,  portrayed  with  an  irresistibility  of  audacity.  In 
every  encounter  as  to  truth  and  honor,  who  can  gainsay  him  ? 
Who  but  Falstaff  may  be  a  coward  upon  'instinct,'  conclude 
by  force  of  syllogism  that  honor  is  but  air  and  a  mere  'scutch- 
eon, and  moralize  upon  all  others :  "  Lord,  Lord,  how  this  world 
is  given  to  lying!"  Yet  how  fond  the  dramatist  is  of  his  crea- 
tion and  how  great-hearted  and  tender  in  his  dealings  with  him  ! 
Prince  Hal,  now  become  King  at  the  close  of  the  play,  may  ban- 
ish him  not  to  come  near  his  person  on  pain  of  death.  But  the 
poet  does  not  stop  there.  In  Henry  V  he  tells  of  Falstaff's 
fate  with  the  large  sympathy  and  humanity  only  the  masters 
possess : 

"  'A  made  a  finer  end,  and  went  away  and  it  had  been  any  Chris- 
tome  child :  'a  parted  ev'n  just  between  Twelve  and  One,  ev'n  at  the 
turning  o'  th'  Tyde ;  for  after  I  saw  him  fumble  with  the  sheets,  and 
play  with  flowers,  and  smile  upon  his  Angers  end,  I  knew  there  was 
but  one  way ;  for  his  Nose  was  as  sharpe  as  a  pen  and  'a  babbled  of 
green  fields.'' 

As  you  know,  the  reading  of  the  last  clause  is  due  to  Pope's 
"  Poor  piddling  Tibbald,"  the  story  of  which  Professor  Louns- 
bury  has  told  at  length  in  his  third  volume  of  "Shakespearean 
Wars."  The  original  had  "a  table  of  green  fields,"  and  with 
the  change  of  one  letter  and  the  addition  of  another,  it  became 
"a  babied  of  green  fields."  It  is  possibly  the  happiest  single 
conjecture  in  all  Shakespearean  emendation,  and  one  which  no 
later  editor  has  had  the  courage  to  reject 

Was  the  old  sinner,  as  some  have  conjectured,  going  over  in 
his  mind  the  Twenty-third  Psalm? — 

The  Lord  is  my  shepherd,  I  shall  not  want.  .  .  . 
He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures. 
He  leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters. 

I  cannot  think  so.  It  takes  away  somehow  from  the  magna- 
nimity of  the  conception.  Surely  it  was  rather  the  scenes  of  his 
childhood,  as  yet  innocent  and  unspotted,  the  green  fields  and 
lanes  of  a  boy's  dreams,  that  hovered  in  the  broken  man's  dis- 


36     SHAKESPEARE  IN  RECENT  YEARS: 

ordered  mind  ;  though  we  may  remember  that  Falstaffis  author- 
ity for  the  statement  that  he  was  once  a  choir  boy  and  cracked 
his  voice  singing  Psalms.  It  is  by  such  touches  of  tenderness  in 
dealing  with  the  clowns  and  villains,  the  overthrown  and  weak 
ones  of  his  plays,  that  we  realize  a  psychological  unity  in  the 
Shakespearean  mind  —  from  Henry  VI  and  Richard  III  to  Ham- 
let, Othello,  Lear,  Macbeth,  and  the  Caliban  of  The  Tempest. 

One  thing  is  clear:  the  poet's  art  had  outgrown  the  restric- 
tions of  the  history  play.  The  spirit  and  genius  of  comedy  which 
had  preserved  him  while  working  upon  Henry  IV  carries  him 
on  for  a  short  while  longer.  He  achieves  his  triumphs  in 
Romantic  Comedy  in  the  banter  and  repartee  of  Much  Ado, 
in  the  forest  scenes  and  moralizings  of  As  You  Like  It,  in 
the  dainty  melancholy  of  Twelfth  Night — and  suddenly  there 
comes  a  great  change  and  the  spirit  of  Comedy,  too,  ceases. 
Singularly  enough,  up  to  this  time  no  pure  tragedy  had  been 
attempted  since  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  no  one  at  all  dealing 
with  the  profounder  problems  of  life  in  its  fateful  relations. 

One  approaches  the  subject  of  Shakespeare's  tragic  themes 
with  a  good  deal  of  trepidation.  In  saying  these  are  the  highest 
themes  Shakespeare  touched,  we  are  simply  repeating  that 
tragedy  is  the  highest  dramatic  mode,  that  drama  is  the  supreme 
form  of  poetry,  and  that  poetry  is  the  greatest  of  all  literary  pro- 
ductions. Among  the  countless  books  on  Shakespeare  that 
have  appeared  in  recent  years,  a  very  remarkable  one  entitled 
"Shakespearean  Tragedy"  was  written  by  Mr.  A.  C.  Bradley, 
then  Professor  of  Poetry  in  Oxford.  The  volume  consisted  of 
ten  lectures  delivered  at  Oxford  chiefly  on  Hamlet,  Othello, 
King  Lear,  and  Macbeth.  Since  vacating  that  chair,  Mr. 
Bradley  seems  to  be  extending  his  method  in  the  study  of 
other  plays,  and  we  find  a  paper  on  Antony  and  Cleopatra  in  a  late 
number  of  the  Quarterly  Review. 

This  work  is  a  return  to  the  methods  of  Coleridge,  Hazlitt, 
and  Charles  Lamb,  and  it  seems  to  me  frankly,  amid  the  moun- 
tains of  miscellaneous  matter  produced,  to  be  one  of  the  most 
notable  English  contributions  to  Shakespearean  criticism  since 
those  early  nineteenth  century  giants.     The  method  is  more  in- 


THE    THEMES    OF    TRAGEDY  37 

tensive,  but  otherwise  the  attitude  is  the  same  as  that  of  a  cen- 
tury ago  —  that  of  treating  the  great  plays  as  realities  and  seeing 
in  them  the  interpretation  of  living  souls.  I  am  well  aware  that 
some  object  to  the  method,  and  often  it  may  seem  futile  to  con- 
sider every  action  and  every  word  as  if  the  character  were 
actually  alive  and  to  build  a  great  system  thereupon.  But  the 
aim  of  the  dramatist  is  to  realize  a  fragment  of  life,  and  it 
seems  just  for  actor  and  critic,  both  interpreters,  to  treat  a  great 
character  and  conception,  for  their  purposes,  as  existing  and 
real. 

It  is  not  singular,  then,  that  among  the  philosophers — students 
of  the  essence  of  character  and  motive  and  being — we  have  found 
the  keenest  interpreters  of  Shakespeare's  work.  It  is  no  acci- 
dent that  the  greatest  interpreter  of  the  theoretical  laws  of  the 
drama  among  the  ancients  was  Aristotle,  and  in  modern  days 
was  the  man  who  has  stuck  his  finger  into  most  pies — Hegel. 
Mr.  Bradley  admits  frankly  that  he  takes  his  point  of  departure 
from  Hegel's  Aisthetik — in  an  article  in  the  Hibbert  Journal Tor 
July,  1904  —  but  he  adds  that  the  development  of  many  details 
(where  Hegel  is  silent)  is  his  own. 

Very  briefly  stated,  Mr.  Bradley's  point  of  view  and  approach 
is  something  like  the  following.  "What  is  tragedy?"  he  asks. 
Following  the  general  mediaeval  conception,  he  would  describe 
it  as  a  great  person  meeting  with  an  awe-inspiring  calamity. 
Such  a  great  person  may  be  of  high  rank  and  great  estate,  or  it 
may  be  it  is  only  his  passion  that  makes  him  great,  as  is  the 
case  with  Romeo  and  with  Othello — although,  too,  the  latter  has 
"done  the  State  some  service."  In  all  tragedy  there  is  some 
sort  of  collision  or  conflict — whether  of  feelings,  wills,  thoughts, 
purposes,  or  by  persons  with  circumstance. 

About  the  central  theme  there  are  many  minor  themes.  To 
heighten  the  effect  abnormality  of  mind  is  often  introduced,  as 
with  Hamlet,  Ophelia,  Lear,  Macbeth,  and  Lady  Macbeth. 
Also  the  supernatural  is  thus  made  use  of,  as  in  Richard  III, 
Julius  Ccesar,  Hamlet,  and  Macbeth.  Chance  or  accident 
comes  in  to  disarrange  plans :  Romeo  doesn't  get  the  friar's 
message   and   thinks  Juliet  is   really  dead,  Juliet  wakes  a  few 


38  SHAKESPEARE    IN    RECENT   YEARS: 

moments  too  late,  etc.  On  the  principle  of  contrast,  humor 
also  finds  a  place  even  in  Tragedy,  with  telling  effect  by  one 
who  is  master  of  both  forms. 

Mr.  Bradley,  therefore,  arrives  at  this  definition  or  descrip- 
tion of  Shakespearean  tragedy:  "The  story  is  one  of  human 
actions  producing  an  exceptional  calamity  and  ending  in  the 
death  of  a  man  in  high  estate."  It  is  not  the  suffering  itself 
which  constitutes  tragedy,  but  the  human  action  whereby  suffer- 
ing is  produced. 

It  will  be  perceived  at  once  that  many  current  conceptions 
borrowed  from  Greek  tragedy  can  remain  no  longer  true  of 
Shakespeare's  work,  and  that  Shakespeare  has  many  character- 
istics in  no  way  applicable  to  the  drama  of  the  great  Norwegian, 
Ibsen,  who  has  lately  died,  the  next  greatest  departure  in 
tragedy,  since  Shakespeare,  from  traditional  paths. 

The  essence  of  Shakespearean  tragedy  is  the  understanding 
and  portrayal  of  the  spiritual  powers  of  man.  This  is  the 
approach  of  the  modern  world.  It  is  no  external  fate  or  destiny 
that  seems  to  cause  the  tragedy:  destiny  is  the  logical  working 
out  of  traits  in  a  man's  own  nature.  Character  is  destiny. 
Romeo  is  precipitate;  he  goes  to  the  Capulet  ball  uninvited,  he 
jumps  over  the  garden  wall  to  speak  with  the  girl  he  has  just 
met,  he  marries  Juliet  off-hand,  he  comes  between  Tybalt  and 
Mercutio,  he  slays  the  bloody  Tybalt  and  later  he  slays  himself 
at  the  tomb  of  his  lover — it  is  all  of  a  piece.  The  tragedy 
comes  from  the  qualities  of  Romeo's  character  and  not  from  an 
unfavorable  star  or  frowning  Providence. 

The  ambition  of  Richard  III,  shrinking  at  no  cruelty  and  at 
no  murder  that  advances  him  the  crown,  is  true  to  the  splendid 
will-power  that  brushes  away  the  dreams  and  visions  of  con- 
science and  dies  gallantly  on  Bosworth  Field.  Here  is  a  mon- 
ster, if  you  will,  but  no  coward.  We  need  not  admire  all  quali- 
ties, but  we  do  admire  many  qualities.  This  sympathy  with  the 
dramatist's  own  villains,  this  humanness,  this  sweetness  of  hu- 
manity, already  noted  in  Falstaff's  case,  is  a  distinct  Shake- 
spearean trait  We  admire  Richard  Ill's  imperious  will — this 
alone  makes  the  wooing  of  Anne  tolerable — we  must  admire 


THE    THEMES    OF   TRAGEDY  39 

even  the  perfection  of  Iago's  cruelty  and  the  greatness  of  Shy- 
lock's  passion  for  revenge. 

The  "exceptional  calamity"  comes  from  the  characters  them- 
selves being  exceptional  in  the  mind  of  the  poet  and  in  the  view 
of  the  audience;  and  because  this  is  so,  there  results  tragedy. 
It  happens  to  that  one  person  just  so,  when  it  would  not  happen 
to  another.  Coleridge  acutely  observed  that  Othello,  being  just 
what  he  is,  is  deceived  by  a  trick  that  Hamlet  would  have  seen 
through  in  an  instant  Put  Othello,  the  man  of  action,  in 
Hamlet,  and  Hamlet,  the  melancholy  brooder,  in  Othello,  and 
the  plot  would  not  have  dragged  through  five  acts.  Othello 
kills  the  woman  he  loves  for  his  very  love's  sake  and  not  for  any 
lesser  motive.  Discovering  his  terrible  mistake,  the  same  sense 
of  honor  and  duty  forbids  him  to  live,  and  the  knife  is  plunged 
into  his  own  bosom.  The  particular  character  of  the  man  ex- 
plains all. 

Brutus  is  sure  that  he  is  doing  right  in  murdering  Caesar — he 
is  consciously  moved  only  by  dictates  of  honor — and  because 
"he  is  an  honourable  man,"  which  Antony  knows  full  well,  he 
falls  an  easy  victim.  It  is  the  high  sense  of  honor  and  of  self 
that  involves  himself  and  the  State  in  disaster,  and  this  is  the 
pity  of  it !  Henry  VI  is  a  poet  and  philosopher,  Richard  II  is 
personally  lovable,  "that  fair  rose  of  York;"  but  each  of  these 
and  none  other  in  his  day  had  to  be  King  of  England,  and  as 
neither  in  his  own  nature  and  temperament  was  able  to  be  King, 
evil  must  result  The  limitations  in  Henry  IV's  nature  do  not 
permit  him  to  understand  his  own  son,  and  he  wishes  for  an 
heir  a  Hotspur  in  place  of  the  future  hero  of  Agincourt 

It  is  by  reason  of  this  attitude,  in  their  study  of  the  psycho- 
logical qualities  of  the  subject,  that  students  like  Coleridge, 
Hazlitt,  and  Mr.  Bradley  are  so  illuminating  in  their  interpre- 
tation. They  believe,  and  I  think  rightly,  that  Shakespeare  did 
more,  consciously  more,  than  write  mere  stage  plays :  he  was 
writing  for  a  wider  literary  audience,  too.  Tragedy  —  Shake- 
spearean tragedy — is  the  great  thing  it  is,  because  it  displays  a 
great  soul  in  its  elemental  passions,  strained  and  riven.  In  such 
presence  we  cease  to  be  flippant — the  suffering,  the  waste  of 


40      SHAKESPEARE  IN  RECENT  YEARS: 

human  powers,  and  the  destruction  of  human  life,  of  the  good 
and  beautiful,  or  what  ought  to  have  been  true  and  lovely,  closes 
the  mouth  of  the  cynic.  And  this  higher  conception,  this  wide 
sympathy,  underlies  every  great  drama  of  Shakespeare's.  The 
tragedy  rests  not  in  the  mere  death,  for  with  Hamlet  we  feel 
death  to  be  a  release ;  it  lies  in  the  needless  waste  of  good  or 
possible  good.  And  this  constitutes  in  itself  a  moral  idea !  We 
feel  pity,  terror,  awe ;  but  we  do  not  feel  crushed  down,  over- 
whelmed, hopeless.  Herein  Shakespeare  differs  from  —  one 
may  not  say,  is  superior  to,  for  there  are  very  different  opinions 
on  this  point — other  great  dramatists,  very  ancient  and  very 
modern.  There  is  thus  in  Shakespeare's  plays  a  moral  order,  a 
moral  necessity,  in  a  wider  sense;  and  the  brilliant  Professor 
Santayana  in  his  recently  published  philosophical  series  is  surely 
unsympathetic  and  wrong  in  denying  this  to  the  dramatist. 
There  are  ultimate  lessons,  though  there  should  be  no  particular 
creed  and  specialized  narrow  faith. 

Brutus  is  honorable  and  "Honest  Iago"  dishonorable;  but 
both  alike  are  caught  in  the  mesh  of  their  own  actions  passing  by 
a  higher  moral  necessity  far  beyond  them.  Lear's  poor  judg- 
ment and  mistake  overwhelms  himself  and  others,  all  that  he 
loves  and  holds  dear  in  this  life.  Othello  is  meaning  to  do  right 
and  murders  innocence.  Coriolanus's  feelings  are  reached  by 
his  family  where  he  did  not  foresee  weakness,  and  he  succumbs. 
Lady  Macbeth  can  cry  to  her  husband,  "We  fail!  But  screw 
your  courage  to  the  sticking-place,  And  we'll  not  fail!"  and 
yet  she  is  tormented  out  of  reason  by  the  thought  and  smell  of  a 
single  spot  of  blood:  "Out,  damned  spot,  out,  I  say!  .  .  .  All 
the  perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little  hand.  Oh  ! 
oh !  oh ! "  What  an  echo  of  her  husband's  greater  saying  :  "  Will 
all  great  Neptune's  ocean  wash  this  blood  Clean  from  my  hand  ? 
No,  this  my  hand  will  rather  The  multitudinous  seas  incarna- 
dine, Making  the  green  one  red."  Macbeth  wishes  the  crown 
and  plays  falsely  to  get  it,  but  the  crown  brings  to  him  all  hor- 
rors in  its  train. 

Methought  I  heard  a  voice  cry,  *  Sleep  no  more ! 
Macbeth  doth  murder  sleep,'  the  innocent  sleep, 


THE   THEMES    OF   TRAGEDY  41 

Sleep  that  knits  up  the  ravell'd  sleave  of  care, 

The  death  of  each  day's  life,  sore  labor's  bath, 

Balm  of  hurt  minds,  great  nature's  second  course,  [etc.] 

Why,  this  man  who  is  a  murderer  is  a  poet  too,  and  he  has 
not  taken  into  account  his  own  sensibilities — the  acting  of  his 
imagination  and  the  workings  of  his  conscience. 

One  reason  why  many  see  in  the  Sonnets  an  autobiographical 
experience,  telling  of  love  and  devotion  for  a  young  man  from 
whom  there  is  estrangement  and  of  a  woman  "colored  ill"  in 
both  appearance  and  character  is,  that  it  seems  to  help  explain 
the  later  great  tragedies  wherein  the  sex  relation  suddenly  be- 
comes singularly  prominent  None  of  the  plays  written  before 
1600  needs  have  had  the  experience  of  the  Sonnets :  all  the  plays 
written  after  1600  point  to  some  change  in  the  poet's  intellectual 
and  spiritual  attitude.  Yet  it  may  be  merely  a  coincidence. 
Romeo  and  Juliet  was  a  tragedy  of  youth ;  now  first  are  pro- 
duced themes  which  only  a  mature  mind  could  handle,  a 
mind  that  seemingly  had  suffered  the  disappointment  of  disil- 
lusion and  ingratitude. 

Hamlet  learns  that  "something  is  rotten  in  the  State  of  Den- 
mark" and  it  suddenly  comes  upon  him  with  overwhelming 
force  that  'something'  is  his  mother.  The  sensitive,  melancholy, 
brooding  young  man  returns  from  the  German  university  to 
Elsinore  to  find  his  father  dead,  his  mother  newly  married,  and 
his  most  sickening  suspicions  seemingly  confirmed. 

O,  that  this  too,  too  solid  flesh  would  melt, 

Thaw  and  resolve  itself  into  a  dew ! 

Or  that  the  Everlasting  had  not  fix'd 

His  canon  'gainst  self-slaughter !  O  God !  God  ! 

How  weary,  stale,  flat  and  unprofitable, 

Seem  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  world ! 

Fie  on't !  ah,  fie  !  'tis  an  unweeded  garden, 

That  grows  to  seed :  things  rank  and  gross  in  nature 

Possess  it  merely  !    That  it  should  come  to  this  I 

But  two  months  dead :  nay,  not  so  much,  not  two,  [etc.] 

This  explains  Hamlet's  seeming  harsh  treatment  of  Ophelia  — 
"Get  thee  to  a  nunnery,  Go  !  go !" — and  poor  Ophelia,  who  has 
oftentimes  been  shockingly  misunderstood,  always  lonely  and 


42      SHAKESPEARE  IN  RECENT  YEARS: 

with  none  to  unburden  herself  to,  when  her  father  to  whom  she 
owes  obedience  is  killed  by  the  man  she  loves,  goes  mad.  Was 
it  this  situation  that  suggested  to  Tennyson  his  Maud? 

The  height  of  the  play  is  reached  in  the  interview  between 
the  spoiled  Queen  and  the  for  once,  determined  and  outraged 

son:    "Why,  how  now,  Hamlet Have  you  forgot  me?" 

the  woman  asks.     And  the  son  replies : 

No,  by  the  rood,  not  so ! 
You  are  the  Queen,  your  husband's  brother's  wife, 
And  —  would  it  were  not  so !  —  you  are  my  mother. 

Othello  is  so  modern  that  we  might  expect  to  find  an 
account  of  it  any  morning  in  the  special  editions  of  our  New 
York  sensational  daily  newspapers.  You  may  almost  see  the 
red  and  green  headlines  as  they  might  have  been  printed  the 
other  day  in  their  account  of  the  murder.  The  black-a-moor 
that  ran  off  with  and  married  the  lovely  white  girl !  How  at  the 
time  society  wagged  its  tongue  and  how  her  father  carried  on 
and  disowned  her!  And  what  was  the  result?  Murder  and 
suicide. 

But  what  may  not  be  thus  told  is  the  proportion  and  symmetry 
of  structure,  the  poetry  of  the  play,  and  the  marvellous  charac- 
terization of  Othello,  of  Iago,  of  Desdemona.  I  once  had  a  girl 
pupil — but  only  one — who  admired  Othello  and  understood 
how  Desdemona  could  have  acted  as  she  did.  All  the  rest  in 
seven  years'  experience  at  a  state  coeducational  university 
thought  Othello  generally  'horrid.'  The  nobility  in  the  Moor 
—  and,  as  revealed,  it  is  a  distinct  Shakespearean  trait — tran- 
scends race,  and  this  is  the  inspiration  of  Desdemona's  love. 
The  spiritual  conflict  and  waste  is  the  tragedy  in  Shakespeare's 
view.  With  all  its  beautiful  poetry  and  wonderful  structure, 
the  play  is  terrible  because  it  is  the  terrible  tragedy  of  race  and 
sex — the  most  elemental  instincts  imaginatively  portrayed. 
Some  one  has  said,  if  Desdemona  could  be  impersonated  by  as 
great  an  actress  as  Salvini  is  actor,  portraying  Othello,  the  spec- 
tacle would  be  unbearable,  it  would  be  so  painful. 

Could  we,  too,  actually  realize  the  sufferings  and  the  pain  of 
Lear  and  Cordelia,  our  human  natures  could  no  more  endure 


THE   THEMES    OF   TRAGEDY  43 

that  play.  In  King  Lear  the  mad  passion  of  the  two  sisters 
for  Edmund  chiefly  contributes  to  the  catastrophe.  The  exter- 
nal terrors  of  the  storm,  to  which  the  King  and  his  attendant 
Fool  are  subjected,  but  feebly  suggest  the  horrible  tempest 
within  the  King's  breast  "Oh,  fool,  I  shall  go  mad!"  And 
Lear  does  go  mad.  Late  Action  writers  have  attempted  for  the 
dramatic  effect  to  produce  this  situation  of  external  storm  in 
sympathy  with  inner  passion,  for  instance,  George  Eliot  in 
"Silas  Marner"  and  George  Meredith  in  "The  Ordeal  of  Rich- 
ard Feverel."  Lear's  instincts  rescue  Cordelia  from  the  wretch 
who  has  hanged  her,  and  he  bears  her  in  his  arms : 

Howl !  Howl!  Howl !  Howl!  O,  you  are  men  of  stone! 
Had  I  your  tongues  and  eyes,  I'd  use  them  so 
That  Heaven's  vault  should  crack.    She's  gone  forever!  .  .  . 
Cordelia,  Cordelia,  stay  a  little  .... 

Her  voice  was  ever  soft. 
Gentle  and  low,  an  excellent  thing  in  woman. 

There  is  a  nobleness  and  atonement  in  Lear's  sad  end  that 
glorifies  him  and  which  could  not  be  found  in  his  prosperity. 

In  Macbeth  the  married  pair  are  united  not  by  a  common 
joy  but  by  a  common  guilt  In  Antony  and  Cleopatra  we  al- 
most hold  our  breath  at  the  audacity  and  success  of  the  poet — 
a  Romeo  and  Juliet  with  the  passion  transferred  from  youth 
to  middle  life !  It  is  far  more  destructive,  and  empires,  as  well 
as  lives,  are  thrown  away.  Helen  of  Troy  may  be  a  myth, 
although  when  in  Greece  two  winters  ago  I  met  in  Sparta  a  loyal 
Greek  who  was  convinced  that  the  lady  had  lived  quietly  among 
the  olive  groves  of  Eurotas  valley  beneath  the  snows  of  Taygetus, 
until  wearying  of  the  monotony  she  welcomed  a  trip  across  the 
seas  in  company  of  Paris.  But  Cleopatra  is  in  history — the 
most  famous  and  fascinating  woman  in  history — and  the  por- 
trayal of  the  dramatist  had  to  be  limited  by  the  claims  of  his- 
tory. Yet  Shakespeare  makes  her  equally  famous  in  drama. 
She  is  his  most  difficult  and  so  most  successful  woman  portrait- 
ure. Here  is  no  fourteen-year-old  Juliet  no  Portia  of  Belmont 
and  no  Rosalind  in  a  Forest  of  Arden.  It  is  "the  blown  rose," 
as  she  describes  herself,  but  the  petals  are  not  yet  fallen.  I 
never  was  able  to  learn  precisely  what  was  Dr.  Osier's  opinion 


44  SHAKESPEARE    IN    RECENT    YEARS: 

of  a  man  become  forty ;  but  at  forty  a  woman  is  just  becoming 
dangerous.  And  Cleopatra  is  such  a  woman  —  the  "serpent  of 
old  Nile."  Antony  passes  away  near  the  end  of  the  fourth  act, 
and  the  closing  act  is  reserved  for  Majesty  itself,  and  she  dies 
worthy  of  her  queenship  and  her  charms : 

Give  me  my  robe,  put  on  my  crown,  I  have 
Immortal  longings  in  me. 

The  strength  and  magic  and  poetry  of  this  art  in  the  six 
plays — Julius  C&sar,  Hamlet,  Othello,  King  Lear,  Macbeth, 
Antony  and  Cleopatra  —  seem  only  half-guessed  as  we  read 
them  and  re-read  them  in  the  light  of  new  thoughts.  In 
all  of  them  Shakespeare  knew  the  evil  that  was  in  the  world, 
strong,  vital,  terrible,  but  never  wholly  destructive  of  good. 
There  is  faith  and  belief  in  goodness  left.  Of  the  'Big  Four,' 
Hamlet  is  the  most  subtly  developed,  Othello  the  most 
perfect  in  structure  and  form,  Lear  the  grandest  and  most 
elemental,  and  Macbeth  the  most  vehement.  But  I  am  deal- 
ing with  superlatives  and  must  fear,  for  each  has  some  merit  not 
possessed  by  the  others. 

These  were  the  culminating  years  of  a  busy  life  in  London. 
After  this,  for  the  last  period  of  his  life,  the  dramatist  retired  to 
his  native  town,  Stratford,  buying  himself  a  comfortable  home, 
and  living  there.  Successful  men  are  fond  of  retiring  in  age  to 
the  places  of  their  birth.  It  was  so  with  Shakespeare,  and  thus 
he  is  buried  in  a  prominent  position  beneath  the  chancel  of  the 
church  where  he  was  baptized. 

His  few  latest  plays  all  bear  the  note  of  this  removal  from  the 
world  of  strife.  The  whole  mental  attitude  has  again  become 
changed.  The  plays  are  no  longer  tragical.  The  heroines  are 
beautiful,  attractive  figures  —  Imogen,  Katharine,  Mariana,  Per- 
dita,  Miranda.  They  suffer,  but  all  ends  happily  as  a  tale  told 
to  a  child  by  an  elder  near  a  winter  fireside.  The  men  are  not 
great  and  heroic  enough,  not  sufficiently  endowed  with  elemen- 
tal strength  and  passion,  for  tragedy.  In  A  Winter's  Tale, 
Leontes  is  unjust  to  his  wife  and  lives  twenty  years  mourning: 
Othello  upon  discoveriug  his  mistake  stabbed  himself  forthwith. 


THE   THEMES    OF    TRAGEDY  46 

In  Cymbeline,  Posthumus  listens  to  Iachimo — a  little  Iago,  his 
name  almost  seems  to  imply — and  later  the  villain  is  brought 
to  repentance:  Iago  could  never  have  repented  and  Othello 
would  never  have  lowered  himself  to  enter  into  a  conspiracy 
against  his  wife,  although  he  could  slay  her. 

A  very  ingenious  theory  has  been  advanced  by  Professor  A.  H. 
Thorndike  of  Columbia  University:  that  Shakespeare,  even  to 
the  last,  as  often  before,  is  merely  following  a  new  fashion  in 
these  latest  plays.  Here  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  are  his  models, 
and  The  Maid's  Tragedy  is  the  prototype  of  this  lyrical  oper- 
atic form  of  dramatic  romance.  If  this  be  so,  Shakespeare 
again  shows  his  genius  by  surpassing  his  competitors  in  the 
new  type. 

While  it  is  uncertain  as  to  which  is  Shakespeare's  last  play, 
I  always  think  of  The  Tempest  as  being  the  dramatist's  fare- 
well to  his  art.  The  supernatural  and  fairy-lore  are  present  as 
in  the  Midsummer  Nighfs  Dream  and  in  Mercutio's  speech. 
In  the  early  play  the  poet  had  paid  the  well-known  tribute  to  the 
poet's  art;  here  he  takes  formal  leave  of  his  dramatist's  occupa- 
tion. As  in  all  the  plays  of  his  later  life,  evil  is  not  absent,  nor 
is  its  meaning  and  destructiveness,  so  prominent  in  the  trage- 
dies, wholly  cast  aside.  But  the  change  in  this  last  group  of 
plays  is  this :  the  evil  does  not  seem  so  black  and  has  not  so 
great  sway.  The  poet-dramatist  exercises  control  and  patience 
in  its  presence  and  will  not  annoy  innocence  with  this  knowl- 
edge. Caliban  is  the  symbol  of  evil :  it  exists  even  in  the  happy 
isle,  and  though  bound  and  restrained,  it  is  ever  ready  to  break 
loose  again.  To  the  last,  the  poet,  now  grown  grave  and 
thoughtful  and  self-contained,  thinks  of  this  evil  and  all  the 
problems  which  it  has  entailed.  But  his  labors  are  now  over, 
and  the  poet-magician,  like  Prospero,  breaks  his  wand  and  gives 
over  his  art : 

Our  revels  now  are  ended.     These  our  actors, 

As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits  and 

Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air: 

And  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision, 

The  cloud-capped  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 

The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 


46      SHAKESPEARE  IN  RECENT  YEARS: 

Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve, 

And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded, 

Leave  not  a  rack  behind.    We  are  such  stuff 

As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life 

Is  rounded  with  a  sleep.     Sir,  I  am  vex'd. 

Bear  with  my  weakness ;  my  old  brain  is  troubled — 

a  turn  or  two  I'll  walk 

To  still  my  beating  mind. 

Can  it  be,  as  Mr.  Bradley  happily  suggests,  that  it  is  the  old 
memories  rushing  back?  The  old  memories ! — to  the  author  of 
these  plays  and  to  us  the  students  of  them.  It  may  be  a  fancy, 
and  one  fears  to  push  it  too  far,  but  it  haunts  one. 

I  would  close,  as  I  began,  with  a  special  plea  for  the  great 
things  in  literature,  meaning  in  all  literatures.  I  have  heard 
good  men  call  Dante  foolishness,  Milton  uninteresting,  the  Iliad 
and  the  Odyssey  a  superstition  and  a  fetich — and  they  forthwith 
turn  to  the  latest  periodical  and  current  popular  work  of  fiction. 
There  is  no  law  about  these  things  with  individuals.  Also  at 
a  late  meeting  of  the  Modern  Language  Association  of  America, 
two  eminent  speakers,  in  welcoming  the  members  of  the  Asso- 
ciation, emphasized  on  successive  occasions  that  any  general 
study  of  the  ancient  classics  was  doomed  and  that  it  rested  with 
the  teachers  of  the  Modern  Languages  to  determine  the  literary 
training  and  inspiration  which  men  of  the  future  would  possess.1 
Perhaps  it  must  be  so.  But  what  I  could  not  at  the  time  help 
wondering  was  this :  What  sort  of  literary  training  and  literary 
insight  will  be  obtained  and  imparted  by  those  who  should  not 
know  the  best  wherever  it  may  be  found,  who  would  willingly 
restrict  themselves  to  one  literature  or  even  to  several  literatures 
of  but  one  age?  Knowing  the  best  must  include  acquaintance 
with  Homer,  yfLschylus  and  Sophocles,  as  well  as  with  Dante 
and  Cervantes  and  Moliere  and  Goethe,  with  Chaucer,  Shake- 
speare and  Milton.  I  need  make  no  plea  for  the  ancients  and  for 
the  classics  generally,  but  it  may  be  safely  affirmed  that  a  liter- 
ary study  of  the  moderns,  early  and  late,  not  based  upon  some 

1  Professor  Henneman  would  have  rejoiced  to  hear  Mr.  Edward  M.  Shep- 
ard,  at  the  meeting  of  this  Association  in  1910,  assure  its  members  that  their 
cause  was  inextricably  bound  up  with  that  of  the  classics. — Edd. 


THETHEMESOFTRAGEDY  47 

knowledge  of  ancient  classical  literature  would  very  soon   tend 
to  become  eccentric  and  volatile. 

Nothing  has  ever  taken,  or  will  take,  the  place  of  the  great 
things  of  all  times,  particularly  of  great  poetry.  As  long  as  we 
must  have  the  best,  the  study  of  no  real  classic  in  any  literature 
is  doomed  to  extinction  or  can  possibly  be  wholly  neglected.  If 
I  may  quote  from  myself  elsewhere :  "The  Tragedy  of  Orestes, 
the  curse  of  CEdipus,  the  horror  of  Hamlet's  doubt,  the  awful- 
ness  of  Othello's  and  Lear's  mistakes,  the  problems  of  Faust's 
self-struggles,  are  immortal,  because  we  cannot  think  of  an  age 
when  these  questions  and  their  expression  in  artistic  form  will 
not  appeal  to  mankind.  They  must  live.  It  is  left  to  no  hap- 
hazard vote-taking  and  change  of  public  opinion.  It  is  the  ever 
longing,  suffering,  aspiring  soul  of  man  that  proclaims  it." 


III. 

The  Man  Shakespeare:    His 
Growth  as  an  Artist 


From  The  Sewanee  Revuw, 
January,  1897 


THE   MAN   SHAKESPEARE:  HIS  GROWTH 
AS  AN  ARTIST 

IT  WAS  De  Quinccy  who  said,  in  his  Britannica  article  on 
Shakespeare,  "  That  he  lived,  and  that  he  died,  and  that  he 
was  'a  little  lower  than  the  angels;'  these  make  up  pretty 
nearly  the  amount  of  our  undisputed  report"  It  must  be 
added  that  there  have  arisen  some  of  late  who  are  disposed 
to  reject  even  these  few  elementary  propositions.  It  is  worth 
while,  therefore,  occasionally  to  emphasize  the  personal  relation 
of  Shakespeare's  work  to  his  life  and  growth  in  art 

We  need  not  wonder  that  we  possess  so  few  records  of 
Shakespeare's  outward  life'  in  an  age  when  biographical 
material  was  very  scanty  about  all  the  world's  great  men  — 
something  so  different  from  the  spirit  of  our  nineteenth  cen- 
tury with  its  insatiable  and  often  impertinent  curiosity. 
What  do  we  really  know,  apart  from  the  works,  of  that 
other  great  poet  at  the  fountain  head  of  our  English  letters, 
genial  Dan  Chaucer,  who  is  rated  next  to  Shakespeare  in 
his  sense  of  humor  and  his  acquaintance  with  the  wide 
gamut  of  the  feelings  of  humanity?  How  much  is  lacking 
and  is  purely  traditional  in  the  personal  life  of  Marlowe,  of 
Massinger,  of  Webster,  and  of  the  other  great  Elizabethans? 

One  thing  at  least  we  do  possess,  viz.:  the  works  of 
Shakespeare — a  collection  of  thirty-seven  plays  more  or 
less  authentic;  two  narrative  poems,  Venus  and  Adonis  and 
Lucrccc  ;  and  the  series  of  Sonnets.  These  are  the  docu- 
ments to  be  examined  and  classified  and  interpreted.  These 
are  the  witnessess  which  tell  us  that  in  the  man  Shakespeare 
and  in  his  work  and  art  all  the  great  forces  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan Era  were  summed  up  and  concentrated.  In  any 
other  age  the  production  of  this  man  and  these  works  would 

1  Since  this  article  was  written,  Professor  C.  W.  Wallace  has  made  some 
important  additions  to  our  knowledge  of  Shakespeare's  life. — [Ed. 


52  THE     MAN     SHAKESPEARE: 

have  been  impossible ;  in  this  era  Shakespeare  becomes  the 
epitome,  as  it  were,  of  all  the  historic  and  economic  and  so- 
cial and  intellectual  vivifying  impulses  which  moved  and  pro- 
duced their  effect  "in  the  spacious  times  of  great  Elizabeth." 
The  youth  Shakespeare  came  fittingly  into  this  world  for 
this  era.  Elizabeth  had  been  on  the  throne  six  years  when 
he  was  born;  at  the  time  of  her  death,  near  forty  years  later, 
he  was  producing,  or  was  preparing  to  produce,  his  master 
tragedies  of  Hamlet,  Othello,  Lear,  and  Macbeth.  His  birth- 
place was  "in  the  heart  of  England,"  as  a  contemporary 
poet  called  his  native  county,  Warwickshire.  The  name  of 
the  town  Stratford-on-Avon  is  so  compounded  to  distin- 
guish it  from  other  Stratfords  in  England,  as,  for  instance, 
Chaucer's  "Stratford  atte  Bowe,"  near  London.  It  lies 
in  an  ideal  poet's  land.  There  are  refreshing  walks 
through  green  meadows  and  along  free-flowing  streams.  To 
the  north  is  the  Forest  of  Arden  —  recalling  the  idyllic 
scenes  of  As  You  Like  It,  even  if  there  the  play  says 
France.  Henley  street,  upon  which  the  poet  was  born,  ex- 
tended toward  a  village  near  this  forest,  Henley-in-Arden. 
We  may  remember,  too,  that  Arden  was  the  family  name  of 
Shakespeare's  mother.  About  ten  miles  towards  the  centre 
of  the  county  was  Warwick  Castle,  renowned  in  both  his- 
tory and  legend.  Warwick  had  lent  its  name,  at  least,  to 
the  mythical  hero  of  the  Middle  Age,  Guy  of  Warwick,  the 
redoubtable  slayer  of  the  giant  Colbrand.  Not  much  farther 
away  lay  Kenilworth,  where  the  Earl  of  Leicester  en- 
tertained Queen  Elizabeth  in  festivities  described  in  Scott's 
novel  —  festivities  and  pageants,  as  is  generally  received, 
which  allow  an  interesting  interpretation  to  certain  otherwise 
obscure  passages  in  A  Midsummer  Nights  Dream.  The 
lad  Shakespeare  may  have  witnessed  these  preparations 
when  about  eleven  years  of  age,  certainly  must  have  known 
of  them  through  the  wondrous  reports  spreading  through 
the  neighboring  country.  Still  farther  north  in  the  same 
county,  Warwickshire,  was  Coventry,  whence  one  of  the 
four   great   collections  of  mystery  and  miracle  plays,  display- 


HIS    GROWTH    AS    AN    ARTIST  63 

ing  the  early  forms  of  the  religious  drama  in  England,  took 
its  name.  And  it  was  about  Coventry  and  Nuneaton — in 
the  opposite  end  of  the  county  from  Shakespeare's  home  — 
that  the  nineteenth  century  produced  that  remarkably  gifted 
woman,  George  Eliot,  whose  genius  ran  not  towards  dra- 
matic poetry  as  the  vehicle  for  her  "criticism  of  life,"  but 
to  psychologic  fiction,  and  thus  prepared  the  way  for  the 
powerful  analytic  and  realistic  school  of  modem  novelists 
that  now  hold  such  determined  sway.  This,  too,  is  the  part 
of  the  country,  at  Newdigate  Hall,  Nuneaton,  where  are 
still  portraits  of  Mistress  Mary  Fitton,  who,  Mr.  Thomas 
Tyler  is  persuaded,  is  the  mysterious  dark  lady  of  Shake- 
speare's Sonnets. 

It  was  country  life  and  Nature's  heart  which  became 
Shakespeare's  earliest  and  best  teachers ;  then  followed  the 
graduate  courses  in  the  great  university  of  life  in  London, 
in  the  heart  of  the  scenes  of  men's  activity  and  passions. 
We  must  not  imagine  the  London  of  that  day  of  the  enor- 
mous size  of  the  present  And  yet,  perhaps,  it  was  fully  as 
cosmopolitan.  There  all  the  nations  of  the  world  would 
meet  through  the  avenues  of  trade  and  of  statecraft  Many 
a  strange  type  would  be  found  there,  moved  by  the  spirit  of 
adventure  or  of  commerce.  In  this  comparatively  small 
compass  elbows  touched  closely,  passions  arose  mightily, 
life  grew  intenser.  It  was  the  life  of  Elizabeth's  day  com- 
ing after  generations  of  restless  strife,  of  civil  disorder  and 
of  religious  horror.  It  was  the  life  based  upon  a  riper  cul- 
ture and  a  grander  freedom  of  thought  prepared  by  the 
twin  movements  of  the  New  Learning  and  the  Reformation. 
The  Renaissance  of  letters  had  to  follow. 

At  what  time  Shakespeare  went  up  to  London  is  not 
known.  There  are  traditions  of  a  poaching  episode:  how 
he  hunted  on  lands  or  reservations  belonging  to  others  and 
was  arrested  therefor.  It  is  likely  enough  true,  from  what 
we  know  of  his  active  nature  and  impulsive  character. 
Most  boys  have  chased  game  on  private  domains  without 
paying   much    attention    to    the    sign:     "No    trespassing    al- 


54  THE    MAN    SHAKESPEARE: 

lowed."  How  he  was  led  to  the  theatre  by  some  happy  in- 
stinct, after  getting  to  London,  we  must  again  leave  to  con- 
jecture. We  are  only  on  safe  ground  when  we  examine  the 
work  he  has  left,  viz.:  the  plays  themselves. 

A  collected  edition  of  these  did  not  appear  until  after 
the  poet's  death — in  fact,  not  until  seven  years  after,  when 
they  were  collected  and  edited  by  two  of  his  former  fellows 
at  the  Globe  Theatre,  John  Heming  and  Henry  Condell. 
Both  Heming  and  Condell  had  been  remembered  in  Shake- 
speare's will,  when  together  with  Richard  Burbage,  the 
greatest  actor  of  his  time,  they  were  left  "  twenty-six  shil- 
lings and  eight  pence  a-piece  to  buy  them  ringes."  Heming 
and  Condell  repaid  thus  the  debt  of  friendship  by  bringing 
together  and  editing  the  poet's  "literary  remains"  as  soon 
after  his  death  as  the  slow  processes  then  in  vogue  permit- 
ted. The  volume  contained,  besides  the  dedication  and  ad- 
dress to  the  public,  tributes  in  verse  from  Ben  Jonson  and 
other  contemporaries.  The  dedication  was  directed  to  two 
noble  patrons  and  friends  of  the  poet,  the  Earls  of  Pem- 
broke and  Montgomery.  This  Earl  of  Pembroke  was  Wil- 
liam Herbert,  the  son  of  the  Countess  of  Pembroke  —  her- 
self the  "Sidney's  sister,  Pembroke's  mother,"  of  Ben  Jon- 
son's  rare  epitaph,1  and  the  lady  for  whom  the  Arcadia 
had  been  written  and  to  whom  dedicated.  This  same  Wil- 
liam Herbert,  the  friend  of  Shakespeare,  is  by  many  sup- 
posed to  be  the  "Mr.  W.  H."  mentioned  in  the  dedication  of 
the  Sonnets  as  their  "onlie  begetter."  These  same  Earls 
of  Pembroke  and  Montgomery  also  exhibited  their  public 
spirit  in  being  prominently  connected  with  other  great 
enterprises  of  the  day :  they  were  members  of  the  well- 
known  "Virginia  Company  in  London,"  which  sent  out 
the  early  colony  which  planted  Jamestown  and  first  es- 
tablished the  English  possessions  in  Virginia  and  in  America. 
Another  name  on  the  list  of  the  incorporators  of  this  Vir- 
ginia Company  was  that  of  the  Earl  of  Southampton,   Henry 

1  Or,  with  more  probability,  William  Browne's. 


HIS    GROWTH    AS    AN    ARTIST  65 

Wriothesley,  to  whom  had  been  addressed  Shakespeare's 
early  narrative  poems,  Venus  and  Adonis  and  Lucrece, 
as  "the  first  heir(s)  of  his  invention."  There  is  thus  every 
presumption  of  Shakespeare's  interest  in  the  stirring  move- 
ments of  his  day.  It  is  no  wonder,  therefore,  that  towards 
the  very  close  of  his  active  career,  the  reported  shipwreck 
of  an  expedition  sent  to  the  relief  of  Jamestown,  off  the 
dangerous  coast  of  the  Bermudas,  should  have  suggested 
both  certain  features  and  the  title  of  his  contemplative  spir- 
itual masterpiece,  The  Tempest.  By  some  odd  chance  this 
was  placed  first  in  the  folio  edition,  and  so  serves  both  as 
guard  and  as  stumbling-block  to   many  an   immature   reader. 

In  studying  the  plays  themselves  the  point  of  view  is 
determined  not  only  by  all  outside  helps  and  references  ob- 
tainable, but  by  the  examination  of  differences  and  qualities 
in  style  and  metre  and  character.  One  can  observe  differ- 
ences of  treatment,  of  conception,  of  strength,  of  growth  in 
art  and  structure,  of  delicacy  in  handling,  of  the  use  of 
m*tres  and  rhymes  and  blank  verse  and  endings  —  of  any 
and  all  characteristics  which  indicate  the  growth  of  an  artist 
in  thought  and  expression,  just  as  truly  as  one  can  see  the 
skilled  mechanic  or  the  skilled  musician  or  any  skilled  lit- 
erary craftsman  advance  from  crudities  and  imperfections, 
even  though  marked  by  genius,  towards  conscious  and  per- 
fect mastery.  It  is  by  such  an  analysis  that  the  student  of 
letters  feels  that  in  these  plays,  however  diverse,  a  clear,  strong 
mind  and  hand  is  present  and  unmistakable — so  clear  and 
unmistakable  that  it  is  reasonable  even  to  dissect  doubtful 
plays  and  to  declare  them  to  be  only  in  part  from  this  hand, 
or  to  contain  old  material  worked  over  and  readapted  to  the 
advancing  demands  of  the  theatre  of  the  day. 

It  is  from  this  point  of  view,  therefore,  that  scholars  trace 
the  character  of  the  work  and  the  growth  of  the  art  of  the  poet 
from  stage  to  stage  and  from  kind  to  kind,  in  order  to  get 
nearer  to  the  personality  and  mind  and  soul  of  the  man  Shake- 
speare. In  this  way  there  is  revealed  in  the  poet's  work  a  per- 
sistent individuality,   and   we  can   distinguish   periods  wherein 


56  THE    MAN    SHAKESPEARE: 

work  of  quite  different  sorts  appealed  to  the  heart  and  brain  of 
the  worker.  In  this  way  there  seems  to  be  a  steady  growth 
from  immaturity  to  conscious  mastery;  from  beginnings  of 
remarkable  talent  and  undoubted  genius,  but  unequal  and 
crude,  to  a  period  seemingly  of  perfect  workmanship,  and 
later  to  something  like  a  standstill  and  possibly  even  a  de- 
cline, if  not  in  power  and  wealth,  yet  certainly  in  variety 
and  spontaneity  and  energy.  Not  that  we  may  say  that  the 
precise  date  and  order  and  relations  of  each  play  are  always 
absolutely  fixed ;  yet  the  criteria  are  numerous  and  the  con- 
clusions reached  are  based  both  upon  all  the  evidence  attain- 
able and  upon  the  truest  psychological  grounds  and  relations 
in  thought. 

There  were  three  dramatic  forms  popular  and  conven- 
tional when  Shakespeare  came  to  town,  entered  the  theat- 
rical world  and  began  to  try  his  hand  at  dramatic  writing. 
There  was,  first,  the  essentially  bloody  tragedy,  often  power- 
ful, but  always  crude  and  full  of  horrors.  Second,  there  was 
the  history  play,  peculiarly  English  in  its  origin,  but  more 
archaic  than  the  other  kinds,  and  very  much  circumscribed 
in  its  effort  to  reproduce  past  history  for  didactic  purpose 
and  to  translate  chronicle  into  suitable  dialogue  and  dra- 
matic form.  The  third  kind,  the  romantic  comedy,  which 
had  been  the  least  successful  of  all  up  to  this  time,  was 
rather  operatic  than  dramatic  in  nature,  was  mythologic  in 
subject,  allegoric  in  treatment,  and  frequently  effusively 
complimentary  in  its  personal  application  to  some  nobleman 
or  special  event  The  great  master  of  the  first  two  forms 
in  tragedy  and  history  was  Christopher  Marlowe,  the  greatest 
of  all  Shakespeare's  predecessors.  He  had  the  wit  to  dis- 
cern the  wonderful  powers  and  possibilities  of  blank  verse 
for  dramatic  intensity,  and  rejecting  the  vehicle  of  rhyme 
had  introduced  this  new  metrical  form  in  his  tragedies  of 
Tamburlaine>  The  Jew  of  Malta,  and  Doctor  Faustus,  and  also 
in  the  historical  masterpiece  up  to  that  period,  Edward  II. 
The  leader  of  the  fashion  of  allegorical  comedy,  which  was  a 
comedy  characterized  largely  by   turns    upon   words   and    wit 


HIS    GROWTH    AS    AN    ARTIST  67 

combats,  was  John  Lyly,  the  redoubtable  author  of  that  quilt- 
patch  story,  Euphues,  and  the  founder  of  a  new  order  of  prose 
writing,  Euphuism.  Besides  work  in  dramatic  pieces,  Lodge 
and  Greene  had  written  stories  and  had  interspersed  them  with 
lyrics  of  rare  beauty  and  grace  and  had  thus  added  to  narrative 
statement  the  charm  of  song.  It  was  natural  that  the  young 
man  Shakespeare,  in  his  first  attempts  should  imitate  existing 
models  in  each  kind :  Marlowe  in  the  tragic  and  the  historic ; 
Lyly  in  the  word-play  of  the  comic ;  and  Lodge  and  Greene  in 
the  sense  of  the  beauty  of  lyric  measures.  Moreover,  it  was 
just  as  natural  that  the  art  and  genius  of  the  young  man  had 
slowly  to  liberate  him  from  palpable  crudities  inherited  from 
these  models. 

The  earliest  of  the  plays  ascribed  to  Shakespeare  are 
beyond  peradventure  Titus  Andronicus  and  /  Henry  VI. 
(Parts  II  and  III  of  this  latter  play  belong  to  a  later 
and  slightly  more  advanced  stage  of  dramatic  structure). 
These  first  plays  have  an  interest  disproportionate  to  their 
literary  value.  They  are  plays  not  written  in  the  later 
Shakespearean  spirit,  but  are  told  in  the  manner  of  his  fore- 
runners, and  as  is  the  case  with  imitations,  with  their  most 
marked  faults  exaggerated. 

Titus  Andronicus  is  an  unrelieved  story  of  bloodshed 
and  cruelty  and  horror.  To  an  unprepared  mind  it  is  sim- 
ply awful — it  reeks  with  blood  —  and  strong  tastes  must 
those  sixteenth  century  Englishmen  have  had  to  tolerate  and 
accept  such  pictures.  They  were  the  physical  as  well  as 
the  psychical  outcome  of  the  long  decades  of  internecine 
war  and  religious  persecution  preceding  Elizabeth's  reign. 
Many  even  doubt  that  Shakespeare  who  later  shows  such 
rare  delicacy  in  handling  disagreeable  subjects,  could  possi- 
bly, even  in  the  crude  period  of  youth,  have  written  Titus 
Andronicus.  Like  Falstaff,  they  argue,  his  "instinct" 
would  have  preserved  him.  Indeed,  opinion  is  very  nearly 
evenly  divided  on  this  point,  with  a  possible  preponderance 
in  favor  of  the  view  that  the  beginner's  early  effort  would 
necessarily  indicate    much    lack  of  taste   and  judgment,    and 


58  THE     MAN    SHAKESPEARE: 

particularly  would  follow  along  lines  already  accepted  by 
current  fashions.  The  excess  of  stock  classical  mythology 
is  a  definite  trait  of  the  conventional  play  of  the  time. 
Besides,  there  are  to  be  found  in  the  play  one  or  two  sensi- 
tive descriptions  of  country  scenery  and  a  knowledge  of  an- 
imals and  of  natural  history,  which  remind  sufficiently  of 
later  work  as,  with  other  evidence,  to  incline  the  critics  to 
ascribe  at  least  something  in  the  play  to  our  poet.  Enough 
for  our  purpose  that  it  represents  clearly  the  pre -Shake- 
spearean spirit  in  contradistinction  to  the  poet's  later  artistic 
development  which  is  yet  to  take  its  first  distinct  step. 

Similarly,  /  Henry  VI  is  merely  the  conventional  type 
of  the  early  history  play  that  preceded  Shakespeare, 
with  all  its  crudity.  The  play  is  formed  by  stringing  to- 
gether episodes  not  belonging  together  through  any  neces- 
sity and  not  governed  by  any  controlling  movement.  For 
instance,  the  Countess  of  Auvergne's  message  and  intrigue 
is  a  clear  insertion  falling  into  the  commonplace.  It  belongs 
nowhere  to  the  movement  and  is  a  motif  similarly  used  in 
the  Alexander  legend  and  doubtless  elsewhere  in  mediaeval 
letters.  No  less  clear  is  another  insertion:  the  lyric  inter- 
view between  young  John  Talbot  and  his  father,  where  each 
desires  to  spare  the  life  of  the  other  and  to  aid  the  other  to 
escape — so  much  like  the  numerous  Damon  and  Pythias 
types  of  legend.  Sir  John  Fastolfe's  cowardice  in  running 
away  from  the  field  of  battle  was  repeated  later  in  Sir  John 
Falstaff — but  with  what  different  effect!  Joan  of  Arc 
(though  suggesting  many  points  to  Schiller)  is  wretchedly 
and  infamously  represented — she,  who  has  since  been  por- 
trayed so  sympathetically  in  English  literature  by  a  writer 
of  the  Romantic  age,  Thomas  De  Quincey.  The  earlier 
English  traditions  on  the  subject  are  evidently  followed: 
Joan  is  in  league  with  the  infernal  powers  of  darkness  to 
whom  she  has  surrendered  both  body  and  soul.  The  figure 
of  bold  Talbot  is  drawn  out  in  special  length,  after  Mar- 
lowe's manner  of  making  an  heroic  central  figure  the  pro- 
tagonist of  the  action.     Marlowe  is  clearly  the  model,  if  not 


HIS    GROWTH    AS    AN    ARTIST  50 

the  co-worker,  as  some  suppose.  Can  it  be  that  this  was  an 
old  play,  which,  according  to  a  frequent  custom,  the  begin- 
ner Shakespeare  essayed  to  work  over  for  better  representa- 
tion by  his  theatrical  company?  If  so,  it  is  agreed  that  there 
are  two  scenes  superior  to  the  rest,  which  reveal  the  future 
poet.  The  highly  poetic  scene  of  the  plucking  of  the  red 
and  white  roses  in  the  Temple  Garden  on  the  banks  of  the 
Thames,  as  signs  of  the  contending  houses  of  Lancaster  and 
York,  and  the  wooing  scene  between  Margaret  and  Suffolk 
—  for  who  can  so  portray  the  speech  of  love  between  man 
and  woman  as  our  dramatist?  —  are  the  ones  thus  singled  out 

This  wooing  scene  is  not  derived  from  history,  but  is  a 
fiction  of  the  poet,  and  upon  this  a  large  part  of  Part  II 
turns.  It  is  as  if  the  scene  were  purposely  inserted  into  an 
older  form  of  the  play  where  Talbot's  glory  was  the  chief 
subject,  and  the  undue  saintliness  of  the  young  king  was 
sufficiently  touched  so  as  to  adapt  the  play  to  the  following 
parts  in  a  new  and  special  spirit  This  is  accordingly  done. 
Parts  II  and  III  of  Henry  VI  are  very  differently  con- 
ceived from  Part  I.  But  here  again  how  much  is  Shake- 
speare's and  how  much  parts  of  old  plays  worked  over,  the 
critics  have  found  it  hard  to  agree,  and  every  one  assumes 
the  right  of  an  opinion.  No  poet,  at  least  approaches 
Shakespeare  in  his  humor  and  clownish  parts,  as  well  as  in 
the  distinction  of  his  poetic  passages.  The  death  scene  of 
the  intriguing  and  wicked  Cardinal  Beaufort  seems  to  reveal 
the  latter  of  these  qualities;  and  the  scenes  of  Jack  Cade's 
rebellion  suggest  the  future  rollicking  Shakespearean  spirit 
which  culminates  in  the  Falstaffian  parts  of  Henry  IV. 
The  spirit  of  tragedy,  too,  has  grown  more  pronounced. 
The  weak  character  of  Henry  brings  its  own  disasters :  the 
guilty  love  of  Margaret  and  Suffolk,  intimated  at  the  close 
of  Part  I,  bears  as  fruit  its  own  terrible  revenge ;  and  the  long 
reign  of  Henry  goes  out  in  darkness. 

The  second  part  of  the  preceding  group  is  clearly  the 
most  carefully  constructed  of  the  three.  In  the  third  part 
the   Titanic    figure   of  the  hump-backed  Richard  already   ap- 


60  THE    MAN     SHAKESPEARE: 

pears,  pointing  to  yet  another  consummation.  The  play  of 
Richard  III  is  really  but  the  fourth  and  concluding  part 
of  the  story  of  the  disasters  begun  in  Henry  VI.  The 
three  parts  of  Henry  VI  and  Richard  III  constitute  a 
sort  of  tetralogy  after  the  manner  of  Greek  playwrights 
and  are  brought  together  as  parts  of  one  concerted  move- 
ment very  much  as  Wagner  joined  together  his  four  operas 
of  the  Nibelungen  Ring.  The  distorted  figure  of  Richard 
III  becomes  the  fitting  deformed  product  of  the  decades 
of  fratricidal  strife.  He  dominates  every  other  character, 
and  his  evil  mind  and  unbounded  will-power  are  irresistible. 
Even  the  courting  scene  of  Lady  Anne,  in  the  presence  of 
the  body  of  her  dead  husband  whom  the  wooer  has  mur- 
dered, would  be  unbearable,  did  we  not  ourselves  feel  for  the 
moment  that  we  yield  to  the  strange  fascination  of  this  more 
than  humanly  imperious  will.  The  destructive  Wars  of  the 
Roses  will  end,  Richard  will  perish  at  Bosworth  Field,  but  he 
remains  true  to  his  conception  to  the  last  There  is  a  cer- 
tain admiration  we  must  feel  for  him  as  he  determinedly 
brushes  away  from  his  vision  all  the  illusory  cobwebs  of  his 
wretched  dreams  and  the  ghostly  apparitions  of  the  night, 
is  prepared  to  stake  his  kingdom  upon  a  horse,  and  con- 
tinues fighting  against  the  odds  of  fate  and  of  heaven  after 
he  has  killed  already  five  "Richmonds  in   the   field." 

In  Richard  III  there  is  felt  to  be  a  distinct  advance. 
The  play  no  longer  consists  of  scenes  loosely  strung  to- 
gether, but  the  parts  are  welded  into  a  whole.  The  one 
dominating  figure  carries  us  safely  through  to  the  end. 
Through  its  powerful  portrayal  of  this  demon  of  cruelty,  it 
is  a  one-man's  play,  and  hence  a  favorite  with  a  certain 
class  of  actors  of  the  ranting  tendency.  This  feature  of  the 
play  in  letting  one  figure  in  its  intensity  and  cruelty  domi- 
nate all  others,  is  altogether  after  Marlowe's  manner.  It  is 
Shakespeare's  one  "  Marlowesque"  play,  as  Mr.  Dowden  has 
said,  and  we  see  the  young  author  was  not  yet  emanci- 
pated from  the  methods  set  by  his  model.  Shakespeare  was 
still   working   in     the     manner    of    his    contemporary,     who 


HIS    GROWTH    AS    AN    ARTIST  61 

though  of  the  same  age,  enjoying  earlier  advantages,  had, 
up  to  that  time,  achieved  greater  distinction.  Mr.  Lowell 
refused  to  believe  that  the  play  of  Richard  III  is  Shake- 
speare's on  the  ground  that  Shakespeare  never  wrote  deliberate 
nonsense,  and  there  is  undoubtedly  much  of  that  in  the  play. 
But  even  if  this  be  admitted,  it  is  a  standard  applicable  solely 
to  later  work.  It  seems  much  more  reasonable  to  accept  the 
explanation  already  given  of  the  tutorship  and  apprenticeship 
of  the  poet's  waking  powers.  Nothing  is  more  apparent  than 
the  wide  gulf  which  separates  the  early  attempts  of  history  and 
tragedy  from  the  later  sense  of  Shakespearean  mastery.  In  this 
process  of  reasoning  and  investigation,  the  normality  of  the  laws 
underlying  and  revealing  the  unfolding  of  the  poet's  genius  be- 
come all  the  more  apparent  What  is  at  first  a  stumbling  block 
can  be  made  a  means  for  the  better  measurement  of  standards 
and  for  the  establishment  of  truer  comparisons. 

If  Titus  Andronicus  was  the  crude  beginning  or  working  over 
of  the  conventional  tragic  form,  and  the  three  parts  of  Henry 
VI  and  Richard  III  constitute  a  great  historic  tetralogy,  what 
was  Shakespeare  meanwhile  doing  in  the  lighter  and  the  more 
playful  and  graceful  vein  of  comedy  and  of  song?  As  Marlowe 
was  his  master  and  model  in  the  former  species,  so  in  this  sort 
the  influence  of  Lyly  is  perceptible,  and  perhaps  that  of  Lodge 
and  Greene. 

It  is  in  comedy,  best  of  all,  in  this  early  period,  that 
Shakespeare's  peculiar  genius  blossoms.  Of  all  the  other 
great  poets  of  English  literature,  Chaucer  alone  approaches 
Shakespeare  in  possessing  the  broad  sense  of  humor,  that 
faculty  of  seeing  things  through  the  medium  of  genial  good- 
natured  fun  and  of  playful  and  even  mocking  sport  In  the 
spirit  of  comedy,  even  at  the  beginning,  Shakespeare  was 
indebted  to  no  teacher  other  than  his  own  intuitive  gifts ;  it  is 
only  in  the  form  that  we  see  him  following  at  first  a  certain 
fashion.  The  wit  of  early  youth  is  apt  to  consist  of  the  play  on 
words,  of  puns  and  smart  sayings  and  verbal  antitheses,  and  to 
lie  in  the  situation  rather  than  in  the  character  and  the  essential 
humorous  atmosphere  of  the  plot  and  piece. 


62  THE    MAN    SHAKESPEARE: 

It  is  instructive  to  apply  these  considerations  to  Shake- 
speare. Love' s  Labour" s  Lost  is  often  considered  to  be  his 
earliest  attempt  in  the  plays  which  for  their  non-tragic 
ending  (to  state  it  negatively)  are  termed  comedies.  It  is 
at  once  the  best  example  of  the  Euphuistic  style  of  Lyly's 
fashion  adopted  in  court  circles,  even  while  it  gently  ridi- 
cules the  excesses  of  that  style  in  the  highly  wrought  fan- 
tastical speech  of  Don  Adriano  the  Spaniard,  Holofernes 
the  pedant,  and  Sir  Nathaniel  the  curate.  We  have  the  two 
types  of  characters  opposed  in  groups :  the  intentionally 
broadly  comic  and  the  more  dignified  and  graceful  and  ro- 
mantic. Among  the  latter  —  there  is  the  king  and  the  three 
gentlemen  attendants,  and  over  against  these  is  the  princess 
with  her  three  maids  in  waiting.  Of  the  figures  in  these  groups 
Rosaline  and  Biron  are  decidedly  the  most  clever  in  their  ver- 
bal retorts  and  answers,  and  later  when  the  poet's  genius  was 
richer,  he  reproduced  them  in  deeper  lines  in  Beatrice  and  Ben- 
edick in  Much  Ado  About  Nothing. 

But  as  yet  we  have  merely  types,  and  there  is  not  the  genius 
which  can  get  beyond  the  type  and  produce  the  distinct  indi- 
vidual figure.  No  plot  has  been  discovered  for  the  source  of 
Shakespeare's  clever  attempt,  but  it  is  such  as  would  suggest 
itself  with  approval  to  a  young  man's  fancy.  There  is  a  conven- 
tional ideal  of  life  attempted  by  the  king  and  his  co-mates,  and 
the  falsity  of  the  convention  is  soon  discovered  when  brought 
face  to  face  with  the  truth  of  nature  and  of  their  own  hearts. 
There  is,  besides,  in  this  play  a  feeling  for  the  open  air,  calling 
up  reminiscences  of  green  fields  and  country  lanes,  and  the 
spirit  of  sweet  lyric  song,  perhaps  caught  from  Lodge  and 
Greene,  breathes  back  its  "daisies  pied  and  violets  blue."  Later 
in  the  poet's  career,  where  his  characters  begin  to  live  as 
persons  and  no  longer  move  in  groups  and  serve  as  types,  we 
are  not  forced  as  here  to  any  probable  or  improbable  interpre- 
tation of  the  poet's  purpose. 

The  Comedy  of  Errors  is  just  as  bright  in  a  very  different  way, 
though  purely  tentative  in  the  history  of  the  poet's  art.  It 
follows  a  very  common  fashion  at  the  time  of  imitating  foreign 


HIS    GROWTH    AS    AN    ARTIST  63 

models:  Seneca  for  ranting  tragedy  and  Plautus  and  Terence  for 
comedy.  In  the  Comedy  of  Errors  it  is  a  play  of  Plautus  which 
is  taken  as  the  source  of  the  plot  It  is  the  story  of  twin 
brothers  so  much  alike  that  they  are  constantly  mistaken  one  for 
the  other.  But  Shakespeare  goes  further  and  by  a  simple  de- 
vice increases  the  improbability  and  confusion.  He  gives  as 
servants  to  the  two  brothers  the  two  Dromios,  who  are  likewise 
twins  and  who  are  confused  as  to  their  respective  masters  as 
these  confuse  them.  With  two  pairs  each  constantly  mistaking 
the  other  and  being  mistaken,  the  relations  soon  become  so 
inextricable  and  laughable  that  the  mind  is  fairly  bewildered. 
No  true  character  is  portrayed  as  yet,  though  we  have  the  begin- 
nings in  the  more  sombre  tones  of  ALgeon  and  the  abbess.  All 
the  fun  and  jest  of  this  play  lies  solely  in  the  comicalities  of  the 
situation,  just  as  in  the  popular  play  given  so  frequently  in  our 
theatres  a  year  or  two  ago,  Cluxrley  s  Aunt.  It  is  an  instance  of 
comedy,  relying  so  far  on  sheer  situation  for  its  support,  as  to 
border  on  the  farce. 

It  is  about  the  same  time  that  foreign  influences  and  models, 
transformed,  however,  perfectly  by  romantic  tendencies,  become 
manifest  in  a  slightly  different  direction.  A  story  in  Ovid's  love 
tales,  an  author  fashionable  for  generations  in  court  circles  and 
frequently  adapted  and  translated,  is  used  by  Shakespeare  for 
a  narrative  poem  on  Venus  and  Adonis ;  and  immediately  after 
the  same  source  furnishes  the  subject  for  the  story  of  Lucrece. 

But  of  all  the  early  plays  the  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  best 
gives  us  a  peep  into  Shakespeare's  workshop,  and  lets  us  see  the 
growth  of  his  art  by  comparing  first  crude  ideas  with  later 
achievements  in  similar  lines.  In  this  play  we  have  numberless 
suggestions  of  plot  and  characterization  that  Shakespeare  is 
going  to  use  again  and  again  with  added  effect.  We  still  have 
the  two  "Gentlemen"  contrasted;  the  two  ladies,  Silvia  and 
Julia;  and  the  two  clowns.  The  characters  still  move  in  pairs 
and  groups.  We  are  dealing  still  with  types  and  not  with 
persons.  But  the  evolution  is  getting  a  genuine  start.  In  the 
Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  we  have  the  woman  assume  male 
attire,  a  feature  that  was  to  be  used  with  charming  effect  in  the 


64  THE     MAN     SHAKESPEARE: 

Merchant  of  Venice,  As  You  Like  It,  Twelfth  Night,  and  Cym- 
beline.  Thus  disguised  she  acts  as  page  to  her  lover  and  carries 
his  messages  to  her  rival,  a  situation  repeated  in  Twelfth 
Night.  Julia  is  the  first  of  Shakespeare's  maidens  who  pursue 
the  men  of  their  affections  and  avow  their  love.  In  this  play 
we  have  the  first  genuine  clowns  (of  which  there  may  be  found 
a  faint  suspicion  even  in  Titus  Andronicus  and  Henry  VI), 
and  Launce  with  his  dog  is  not  only  the  father  of  Launcelot 
Gobbo,  who  inherits  the  name,  in  the  Merchant  of  Venice,  but 
is  godparent  of  the  whole  series  of  later  jesters  and  fools.  The 
friar  is  brought  in  to  solve  difficulties  as  in  Romeo  and  Juliet, 
and  in  Much  Ado.  The  lovers  are  named  and  described  between 
mistress  and  maid  and  criticised  adversely  as  in  the  Merchant  of 
Venice  —  only  with  the  parts  of  maid  and  mistress  more  naturally 
reversed  in  the  later  play.  The  rejected  and  persecuted  lover 
takes  the  lead  of  a  band  of  outlaws  in  the  forest  —  a  scene  bor- 
rowed from  the  Robin  Hood  ballads  and  repeated  in  As  You  Like 
It.  The  sudden  and  unnatural  pairing  off  of  lovers  in  the  fifth 
act  contrasts  sharply  with  the  later  delightful  wooing  in  almost 
every  play.  Most  of  all,  the  plot  of  this  play  is  the  first  of  many 
taken  from  the  legends  and  tales  of  Southern  Europe;  for  Shake- 
speare seldom  or  never  cared  to  invent  the  mere  story ;  —  it  was 
enough  for  his  art  to  use  this  as  ready  material,  to  add  new 
figures  and  inspire  those  already  existing  with  the  breath  of  life. 
And  last,  the  genius  of  the  romantic  spirit  hovers  everywhere. 
But  although  the  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  contains  germs, 
they  remain  germs,  and  the  buds  have  not  unfolded  into 
blossoms  nor  does  the  flower  give  forth  its  rich  perfume. 
This  we  first  reach,  standing  alone  of  its  kind,  in  the  fourth 
and  last  play  portraying  the  gentle  human  spirit  of  this  early 
comedy,  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream.  It  is  not  that  the 
poet's  genius  has  now  grown  ready  for  deep  characterization. 
This  will  not  be  found  there.  But  there  is  the  greatest  charm 
and  delight  in  the  deft  union  of  the  varied  threads  into  the 
woof  of  the  fabric.  And  these  threads  are  highly  and  yet 
differently  colored.  There  are  figures  at  the  court  of  the 
duke,    for  Shakespeare  has  a  partiality  for  dukes  and  follows 


HIS    GROWTH    AS    AN    ARTIST  86 

Chaucer  in  placing  one  even  at  Athens.  The  crew  of  Bottom 
the  weaver,  Quince  the  carpenter,  Snout  the  tinker,  Snug  the 
joiner,  Flute  the  bellows-mender,  and  Starveling  the  tailor, 
have  their  genuine  English  folk-accent  rendered  even  more 
pronounced  by  the  incongruities  of  their  representation  of  the 
gentle  romantic  lover's  tale  of  Pyramus  and  Thisbe.  Last, 
taken  from  the  world  of  folk-lore,  are  the  figures  of  Oberon 
and  Titania,  king  and  queen  of  fariy-land,  having  as  attendants 
Peaseblossom,  Cobweb,  Moth,  and  Mustardseed,  and  good- 
fellow  Puck  who  boasts  to  "put  a  girdle  round  about  the  earth 
in  forty  minutes,"  and  upon  acquaintance  with  the  creatures  of 
this  world  is  forced  to  soliloquize,  "Lord,  what  fools  these 
mortals  be !" 

Mr.  Barrett  Wendell  has  suggested  that  A  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream  is  "a  deliberate  working  over"  of  the  two  plots 
of  The  Comedy  of  Errors  and  the  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 
The  poetic  touch  has  become  more  skilled  and  deft,  and  has 
given  us,  by  the  playful  fall  of  fancy's  fingers,  a  perfect  gem  of 
its  kind.  When  the  supernatural  is  used  again,  as  in  Ariel 
and  Caliban,  in  The  Tempest,  at  the  close  of  the  poet's  career, 
it  is  with  graver  and  more  serious  hand.  While  more  preg- 
nant with  thought  and  meaning,  there  is  lacking  the  freshness 
and  vital  charm  and  beauty  of  the  mere  fancy's  play.  The 
advance  in  the  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  is  thus  really  more 
in  its  poetic  than  in  its  dramatic  qualities.  The  delightful 
phases  of  fairy-lore  and  of  midsummer  madness,  when  even 
Bottom,  the  weaver  with  an  ass's  head  on  his  shoulders,  is  an 
object  for  caressing,  would  nowadays,  as  Mr.  Wendell  has 
very  justly  observed,  be  thought  more  fit  for  an  opera  than  for 
representation  in  a  play.  It  is  the  art  of  the  young  poet  that 
has  gained  strength  and  consciousness  in  its  exercise. 

At  the  same  time  that  we  have  this  exuberance  of  poetic 
fancy  in  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  so  perfect  in  its  nice 
daintiness,  Shakespeare  essays  tragedy.  This  new  effort  is 
essentially  a  tragedy  of  youth, —  of  the  young  unfulfilled 
passionate  love  of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  This  is  his  first  tragedy, 
apart  from  the  history  plays  which  stand  by  themselves,  for 
6 


66  THE    MAN    SHAKESPEARE: 

Titus  Andronicus,  it  will  be  recalled,  belongs  to  the  pre- 
Shakespearean  group  certainly  in  spirit,  and  many  doubt 
whether  it  be  by  Shakespeare  even  in  the  remotest  degree. 

The  passionate  glow  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  is  too  intense  for 
this  world.  It  cannot  last.  It  must  meet  obstacles  of  one 
sort  or  another  and  turn  to  a  tragic  ending.  Happy  pair, 
perchance,  that  could  stake  their  bliss  thus  and  not  have  it 
rudely  snapped  by  domestic  infelicity,  easily  possible  to  two 
natures  strung  in  so  high  a  key!  This  high  stringing  vibrates 
through  every  note  of  Romeo  and  Juliet — that  of  a  strong, 
intense  passionate  young  nature  endowed  with  the  imagination 
for  the  time  to  feel  like  Romeo  and  to  live  with  Juliet.  The 
poet  is  each  of  his  characters  in  turn;  for  now  he  is  getting 
beyond  mere  types  and  is  creating  character  and  giving  the 
individual.  The  happiest  are  his  own  conception,  not  given, 
or  at  best  faintly  so,  in  the  original.  The  garrulous  nurse, 
humorously  talkative  in  her  inaccuracy  and  untrustworthiness, 
and  the  courtier  Mercutio,  endowed  with  pungent  wit  and  the 
ripest  fancy,  and  dying  with  a  pun  on  his  lips,  are  figures 
indicating  growth  of  power  in  specific  portraiture.  We  feel, 
too,  that  Romeo,  from  being  the  mere  type  of  forlorn 
melancholy  lover  that  he  plays  in  the  first  act,  longing  for 
some  nondescript  Rosaline,  is  transformed  before  us  into  the 
passionate  nature  stirred  to  its  depth  at  last  by  the  knowledge 
of  what  a  true  love  really  is.  And  the  young  girl  Juliet  is 
capable  of  descending  into  the  maw  of  Death  itself  by  strength 
of  the  revelation  of  love  to  her  budding  womanhood. 

With  this  success  in  the  lighter  comedy  as  seen  in  A 
Midsummer  Night's  Dream  and  the  success  in  tragedy  as 
figured  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  we  might  anticipate  that  from  now 
on  our  poet  would  pass  from  success  to  success.  But  this  is 
only  partly  true.  Certain  prescribed  forms  still  lend  them- 
selves more  readily  to  his  genius.  Romeo  and  Juliet  was  a 
tragedy  of  youth  and  unfulfilled  love,  but  for  the  greater 
tragedy  of  life  and  of  the  human  soul,  even  a  Shakespeare 
needed  yet  other  training  and  a  severer  schooling  in  life's 
experience.     Some  years  elapse  before  this  interest  leads  him 


HIS    GROWTH    AS    AN    ARTIST  67 

again  upon  the  paths  of  tragedy.  Instead  he  returns  to  the 
history  play.  But  the  history  play  is  consciously  conventional 
in  spirit  and  archaic  in  form,  and  while  doing  better  work 
than  before  in  this  kind,  the  poet  does  not  yet  attain  the  same 
brilliant  success  of  his  best  contemporary  comedy  and  tragedy. 
His  expression  in  the  latter  two  forms  has  clearly  outgrown 
that  in  the  former. 

Having  treated  in  the  three  parts  of  Henry  VI  and  in 
Richard  III  the  civil  strife  in  the  Wars  of  the  Roses  which 
culminated  in  the  engendering  of  the  wretched  disfigured 
Richard  and  his  downfall  at  Bosworth  Field,  a  return  is  made 
to  an  earlier  period  of  history.  A  second  tetralogy  (Richard  II, 
I  and  //  Henry  /Fand  Henry  V)  is  added  to  the  former 
group  of  four  plays  (/,  //  and  ///  Henry  VI  and  Richard 
III).  The  cause  of  all  the  trouble  between  Lancaster  and  York 
is  sought  in  the  wrongful  deposition  of  Richard  II  and  the 
usurpation  of  the  throne  (even  though  by  act  of  Parliament)  on 
the  part  of  Henry  Bolingbroke,  crowned  Henry  IV.  Richard 
is  unworthy  of  the  rule  of  men  in  that  he  knows  not  how  to 
rule  himself.  He  is  the  poet  and  the  philosopher  and  the 
dreamer,  when  his  position  demands  that  he  shall  be  the 
sovereign  and  the  warrior  and  the  man  of  action.  This  in- 
herent weakness  brings  about  his  downfall;  Richard  is  de- 
posed; and  the  star  of  Bolingbroke  triumphs.  Marlowe 
had  depicted  the  evil  reign  of  the  other  of  England's  kings 
who  had  been  not  unlike  Richard  in  his  fate,  Edward  II; 
and  thus  in  the  history  play  we  still  find  Shakespeare  ac- 
knowledging Marlowe  as  his  guide,  if  not  his  master. 

The  miserable  reign  of  one  king  suggests  that  of  another,  and 
the  play  of  King  John  is  to  be  connected  with  Richard  II.  But 
that  which  interests  us  to-day  so  greatly,  Magna  Charta  and  the 
struggle  for  liberty,  finds  no  place  in  the  play.  And  this  is  not 
strange.  Shakespeare  was  not  writing  a  philosophic  historical 
treatise  to  please  our  modern  nineteenth  century  historians ;  he 
was  writing  a  play  to  be  acted  and  to  please  the  public.  There- 
fore, it  is  the  romantic  traditions  of  the  reign,  and  the  reputed 
murder  of  the  boy  Arthur,  and  Constance's  grief  for  her  son,  and 


68  THE    MAN    SHAKESPEARE: 

the  pity  of  Hubert,  and  the  humanity  of  the  Bastard  Faulcon- 
bridge  that  of  a  right  seize  and  hold  the  poet's  pen  and  power. 

But  the  historic  play  is  by  this  time  confessedly  felt  to  be 
old-fashioned  in  its  principles.  The  more  genial  spirit  of 
comedy  is  again  invoked.  But  the  comedy  is  now  strengthened 
and  intensified  by  tragic  elements  so  as  to  bring  out  intensity  in 
character;  yet  these  tragic  elements  are  in  the  end  turned  aside 
so  that  all  the  apparently  deserving  are  happy.  The  Merchant 
of  Venice  is  now  produced.  This  play  must  be  compared  most 
closely  with  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream.  Just  as  there  three 
different  strata  were  united,  so  here  two  entirely  different 
stories,  the  pound  of  flesh  story  and  the  casket  story  (not  to 
speak  of  minor  motives,  as  the  spiriting  away  of  the  Jew's 
daughter,  and  the  moonlight  operatic  serenade  at  the  close),  are 
intertwined  and  made  to  serve  as  the  basis  of  a  new  movement. 
The  plot  is  old,  but  the  figures  are  made  new  and  real  and  vital. 
Shylock  is  a  Jew  demanding  a  Christian's  life;  but  Shakespeare 
has  transformed  him  from  the  monster  into  a  human  creature 
with  the  same  humanity  as  ourselves: 

"  Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes?  Hath  not  a  Jew  hands,  organs, dimensions, 
senses,  affections,  passions?  Fed  with  the  same  food,  hurt  with  the 
same  weapons,  subject  to  the  same  diseases,  healed  by  the  same 
means,  warmed  and  cooled  by  the  same  winter  and  summer,  as  a 
Christian  is?  If  you  prick  us,  do  we  not  bleed?  If  you  tickle  us,  do 
we  not  laugh?  If  you  poison  us,  do  we  not  die?  and  if  you  wrong 
us,  shall  we  not  revenge  ?  If  we  are  like  you  in  the  rest,  we  will  re- 
semble you  in  that.  If  a  Jew  wrong  a  Christian,  what  is  his  humility? 
Revenge.  If  a  Christian  wrong  a  Jew,  what  should  his  sufferance  be 
by  Christian  example  ?  Why,  revenge.  The  villainy  you  teach  me  I 
will  execute,  and  it  shall  go  hard  but  I  will  better  the  instruction." 

Small  wonder  there  has  arisen  a  coterie  who  believe  that 
Shylock  was  badly  treated  and  proceed  to  write  a  plea  on  his 
behalf.  It  is  the  highest  tribute  to  the  growth  in  the  poet's  art. 
He  has  taken  a  conventional  figure  away  from  the  category  of 
the  traditional  inhuman  monster  as  seen  in  Marlowe's  Jew  of 
Malta  and  Shakespeare's  Jew  has  become  a  man — suffering, 
and  because  he  has  suffered,  wishing,  too,  to  inflict  suffering. 
At  last  Shakespeare  can  be  brought  into  comparison  in  tragic 
elements  with  his  original  inspirer,  Marlowe,  and  be  declared 


HIS    GROWTH    AS    AN    ARTIST  M 

emancipated.  The  instincts  of  his  own  genius  are  bearing  him 
aloft.  The  figures  of  the  clowns  reappear  in  strengthened  lines. 
We  have  had  women  before,  but  their  figures  have  been  hazy. 
The  women  in  the  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  and  in  A  Mid- 
summer Night's  Dream  were  persons  merely  and  left  no  definite 
impression.  Even  the  passion]and  experience  of  the  unfortunate 
Juliet  was  restricted  to  a  single  phase  of  life.  But  Portia  has 
true  womanliness  ringing  in  every  word  and  act,  and  heads  the 
list  of  splendid  portraitures  of  the  glorious  women  in  Shake- 
speare's gallery.  Whether  there  ever  was  such  a  perfect  woman 
as  Portia  actually  in  existence,  is  beside  the  question.  She  is  a 
noble  ideal  of  the  poet's  brain  and  heart  in  an  age  not  altogether 
given  to  idealizing  woman.  Here  we  have  portrayed  at  last,  in 
a  later  poet's  words: 

"  A  perfect  woman  nobly  planned 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command." 

But  there  is  a  bit  of  English  history  to  tell  still  left  incomplete. 
The  downfall  of  Richard  II  brought  with  it  the  success  of  Boling- 
broke,  who  became  Henry  IV.  Richard  was  unworthy  and  he 
fell  —  poetic  justice  teaches.  But  Henry  conspired  against  his 
lawful  king  and  sovereign,  and  the  same  poetic  justice  decrees 
that  his  days  shall  be  full  of  trouble  and  his  reign's  end  clouded. 
He  dies  not  in  the  Holy  Land  on  a  Crusade  as  he  had  vowed  in 
order  to  appease  the  wrath  of  Heaven,  but  in  Jerusalem  Chamber 
at  Westminster  under  the  conviction  and  fear  that  his  son  for 
whom  he  had  wrested  an  unlawful  crown  was  unworthy.  This 
is  the  tragedy  of  the  history  of  Henry  IV.  But  even  in  this 
history  play  the  genius  of  the  poet  was  more  concerned  with  the 
realities  of  the  present  than  with  the  tragedy  of  the  past. 
Henry  IV  lives  for  us  not  so  much  because  of  its  history  as  by 
reason  of  the  fiction  in  the  play.  It  is  the  unparalleled  creation 
of  Falstaff  among  the  scenes  in  Eastcheap  at  the  Boar's- Head 
tavern  with  its  rollicking  companions,  prominent  among  whom 
is  Prince  Hal,  the  heir  apparent,  that  we  think  of  when  we 
name  Henry  I V.  So  far  has  the  muse  of  comedy  overshadowed 
that  of  history.  Here  is  drastic  realism  enough!  Falstaff  is 
thoroughly  a  creature  of  the  senses,  but  with  an  irresistibility  of 


70  THE    MAN    SHAKESPEARE: 

audacity.  In  every  encounter  as  to  honor  and  truth  who  can 
gainsay  him?  We  throw  down  all  moral  standards  at  the  ap- 
proach of  this  ton  of  sack  only  to  laugh  immoderately  at  him  and 
with  him.  Who  but  Falstaff  may  be  a  coward  upon  "instinct" 
and  conclude  by  force  of  syllogism  that  "honor"  is  but  "air" 
and  "a  mere  scutcheon"  and  moralize  upon  all  others:  "Lord, 
Lord,  how  this  world  is  given  to  lying!  " 

There  are  two  parts  of  Henry  IV,  but  they  are  not  enough 
for  Falstaff  and  Prince  Hal.  We  are  promised  that  we  shall 
have  both  again.  With  the  heroic  presentation  of  Henry  V 
the  history  plays,  already  antiquated  and  archaic  in  form  for 
Shakespeare's  strengthening  genius,  come  to  a  definite  end. 
This  is  Shakespeare's  only  panegyric,  and  he  was  but  following 
the  usual  trend  of  English  thought  in  glorifying  the  hero  of  the 
Battle  of  Agincourt.  His  fellow-countryman,  Drayton,  had 
sung  lustily  of  Henry.  But  may  there  not,  too,  have  been 
something  personal  in  Shakespeare's  attitude?  Prince  Hal 
had  spent  a  wild  and  careless  youth,  but,  Shakespeare  intimates, 
he  was  always  sure  of  himself  and  knew  that  this  phase  of  his 
life  was  only  temporary  and  that  the  time  would  come  when 
with  growth  and  with  increased  responsibilities  the  world 
would  finally  learn  what  sort  of  man  he  really  was.  Was  there 
any  intimation  that  once  the  youth  Shakespeare  had  been 
rather  a  harum-scarum  lad  in  Stratford ;  that  he  had  hastened 
under  circumstances  possibly  not  altogether  to  his  credit  into 
an  early  marriage;  that  he  had  been  brought  before  the  mag- 
istrate for  poaching  on  the  hunting  preserves  of  this  choleric 
gentleman,  upon  whom  he  perhaps  obtained  his  revenge  in 
using  him  as  prototype  for  Justice  Shallow  in  Henry  IV  and 
the  Merry  Wives  \  that  he  had  left  his  native  town  very 
possibly  under  a  cloud,  but  conscious,  in  some  measure,  of 
his  high  destiny?  The  reward  had  surely  come  with  the 
achievement !  We  shall  not  be  too  sure.  At  any  rate  it  is  in 
Henry  V  alone  of  all  the  plays  that  the  man  Shakespeare 
seems  to  enter  personally  and  to  speak  with  an  individual 
enthusiasm. 

Herewith  ended  all  the  work  in  history  —  with  the  exception 


HIS    GROWTH    AS    AN    ARTIST  71 

of  the  fragment  of  Henry  VIII  attributed  to  Shakespeare 
near  the  close  of  his  career.  One  thing  is  clear,  the  poet's 
art  has  outgrown  the  restrictions  of  the  history  play.  The 
spirit  and  genius  of  comedy  which  had  possessed  him  while 
working  upon  Henry  IV  carries  him  on  for  a  while  longer. 
No  pure  tragedy  has  been  attempted  since  the  completion  of 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  no  one  at  all  dealing  with  the  profounder 
problems  of  life  in  its  fateful  relations. 

Falstaff,  however,  had  been  promised  to  us  as  well  as  the 
Prince.  Yet  Shakespeare  knew  that  it  was  impossible  to 
make  an  ideal  figure  of  Henry  V  and  retain  the  old  sinner 
as  his  boon  companion.  He  is  banished  from  the  court  at 
the  close  of  Henry  IV,  and  very  early  in  Henry  V  we  hear  of 
Falstaff's  death.  "His  nose  was  as  sharp  as  a  pen  and  a' 
babbled  of  green  fields"  and  "a*  made  a  finer  end  and  went 
away  as  it  had  been  any  Christom  child,"  reports  the  hostess 
of  the  tavern  with  almost  tenderness  and  a  touch  of  genuine 
pathos.  But  there  was  another  reason  for  dropping  Falstaff. 
Falstaff  had  for  the  second  time  been  the  hero  of  a  special  play. 
The  original  creation  is  said  to  have  pleased  the  Queen  and  her 
Court  so  much  that  the  request  was  made  that  the  author  should 
represent  Falstaff  in  love.  Whatever  the  tradition  be  worth,  the 
result  was  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor.  The  play  is  said  to 
have  been  put  together  in  two  weeks.  It  bears  every  mark  of 
crudity  and  haste.  It  is  not  in  blank  verse,  but  written  almost 
altogether  in  prose  form  throughout.  The  scene  is  nominally 
laid  at  Windsor,  the  seat  of  the  Queen,  but  the  whole  situation 
is  essentially  continental  and  southern,  as  if  adapted  to  for- 
eign manners  to  suit  the  merriment  of  a  court  circle.  Fal- 
staff's genius  has  clearly  deserted  him,  and  he  is  no  longer 
the  same  creature.  His  fatuity  is  pitiful  and  he  suffers  dis- 
astrously and  deservedly  for  being  so  egregious  an  old  fool. 
The  second  part  of  Henry  IV  is  hardly  the  equal  of  the  first 
part  in  the  Falstaffian  vitality,  but  the  Merry  Wives  is  dis- 
tinctly unprofitable  compared  with  the  earlier  work.  It  is  but 
another  striking  illustration  of  poorer  later  endings  to  former 
good  things,  and  shows  that  works,  made  to  order  at  command 


72  THE     MAN     SHAKESPEARE: 

of  the  Sovereign  who  sits  on  the  throne  and  not  at  the  order  of 
the  Muse  who  rules  the  heart  and  soul  of  poesy  and  directs  the 
reins  of  the  imagination,  are  often  in  vain.  We  may  be  sure  that 
Shakespeare  was  not  genuinely  interested  in  this  work.  It  is 
his  left  hand  achievement,  as  it  were,  while  his  right  hand  is 
otherwise  and  better  engaged. 

Even  so  little  does  another  play  at  this  period,  The  Taming 
of  the  Shrew,  show  Shakespeare  at  his  best.  It  belongs  to  the 
boisterous  conception  of  the  Falstaffian  period  and  is  probably 
an  absolute  contemporary  of  Henry  1 V.  But  while  rich  blood 
is  put  into  the  veins  of  Henry  IV,  only  the  cloaking  over  was 
done  on  the  skeleton  of  the  Shrew.  The  play  is  based  upon  a 
yet  older  play  with  a  very  similar  title,  The  Taming  of  a  Shrew, 
and  as  we  have  it,  the  play  is  only  in  part,  in  every  probability, 
Shakespeare's  work.  The  intrigue  of  Bianca  and  her  suitors  is 
the  part  ascribed  to  the  other  worker.  The  part  believed  to  be 
Shakespeare's  is  the  noisiness  and  high  spirits  of  the  Katherine 
and  Petruchio  episodes.  But  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew  is  not 
so  gross  when  Shakespeare  leaves  it  as  it  first  seems.  Shakes- 
peare inspires  new  life  into  everything  that  he  touches. 
Katherine  is  not  a  mere  shrewish  vixen ;  she  is  a  woman  who 
knows  her  superiority  in  character  to  her  universally  more 
admired  sister,  and  she  has  a  real  woman's  heart  if  the  right 
man  can  come  to  discern  it  and  to  bring  out  the  womanly  parts. 
This  is  probably  the  seeming  miracle  that  Petruchio  performs 
amid  all  his  bluster.  The  true  man  and  the  true  woman,  each 
has  met  his  mate;  both  are  at  last  matched;  and  the  woman  is 
quick  to  recognize  this  truth  and  is  all  the  more  womanly  and 
true  in  her  yielding.  As  for  Christopher  Sly,  in  the  Arabian 
Nights  transformation  of  the  Induction,  he  remains,  even  in  a 
lord's  house,  "Christopher  Sly,  old  Sly's  son  of  Burton  Heath," 
not  so  far  away  from  Shakespeare's  Warwickshire  home,  and 
upon  waking  calls,  "For  God's  sake,  a  pot  of  small  ale." 
Shakespeare's  realistic  sense  had  come  in  contact  with  the  Slys 
in  frequenting  other  taverns  than  the  Boar's-Head  in  Eastcheap 
in  Falstaff's  company. 

But  if  these  two   plays   were   lightly   thrown   off   at  busied 


HIS    GROWTH    AS    AN    ARTIST  78 

intervals,  because  the  poet  was  more  deeply  engaged  upon 
other  matters,  there  follow  three  comedies  upon  the  close  of 
the  history  series  which  received  his  full  attention  and  indi- 
cate the  highest  achievement  in  Shakespearean  romantic  color 
and  grace  and  charm.  These  three  plays  are  Much  Ado  About 
Nothing,  As  You  Like  It,  and  Twelfth  Night.  They  con- 
stitute the  height  of  the  sympathy  and  tenderness  of  the 
creations  in  the  bright  romantic  spirit,  as  they  close  abruptly 
the  series  of  joyous  comedy. 

Much  Ado  is  akin  in  some  respects  to  the  Taming  of  the 
Shrew,  as  the  noisiest  and  most  boisterous  of  the  three.  Like 
that  play,  moreover,  it  consists  of  a  union  of  a  comedy  of  intrigue 
and  one  of  character.  There  is  much  witty  dialogue  and  hu- 
morous situation.  The  intrigue  of  the  Hero  and  Claudio  part 
suggests  in  certain  features  the  future  Winter  s  Tale,  and  this 
part  of  the  plot  is  borrowed  in  its  origins.  The  passages  where 
Beatrice  and  Benedick  flout  at  one  another,  like  the  gifted  pair 
already  described  in  Love's  Labour  s  Lost,  are  the  genuinely 
Shakespearean  parts,  and  this  pair  find  each  other  in  the  end 
with  more  reason  than  Katherine  and  Petruchio  in  The  Taming 
of  the  Shrew.  Benedick  marks  Beatrice  and  she  chooses  him  as 
the  object  of  attention  from  the  start.  They  are  clearly  the  best 
and  brightest  of  the  whole  company  and  are  accordingly  best 
fitted  for  each  other's  aim.  The  climax  is  simply  the  mating  of 
the  best  of  their  kind,  the  union  as  well  as  the  survival  of  the 
fittest.  And  the  blundering  officials,  Dogberry  and  Verges,  are 
princes  of  all  official  stupidity,  proud  of  their  small  place  and 
even  more  fearful  for  their  still  smaller  dignity. 

The  atmosphere  in  As  You  Like  It  is  entirely  different. 
Everything  is  out  in  the  open  air,  as  in  the  merry  days  of  good 
Robin  Hood  and  Friar  Tuck.  The  Forest  of  Arden  can  harbor 
such  figures  as  Rosalind  and  Orlando.  Touchstone,  the  most 
sentimental  of  clowns,  Jaques,  the  most  melancholy  of  men,  and 
the  Duke  who  moralizes : 

M  Sweet  are  the  uses  of  Adversity 
Which  like  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomous, 
Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head  ; 


74  THE     MAN     SHAKESPEARE: 

And  this  our  life,  exempt  from  public  haunt, 
Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks, 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything." 

Twelfth  Night  recalls  once  again  the  confusions  of  the  Comedy 
of  Errors  and  of  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream.  On  Twelfth 
Night,  just  as  on  Midsummer  Night,  such  disguises  and  con- 
fusions are  most  likely.  Do  not  gates  drop  from  gate  posts  and 
walk  away  on  those  evenings,  and  are  not  the  spirits  abroad  ? 
In  both  these  plays,  As  You  Like  It  and  Twelfth  Night,  there 
persists  a  romantic  setting  of  dainty  melancholy.  The  charming 
lyrics  and  the  quaint  moralizings  and  bright  jestings  merely  in- 
tensify this  spirit. 

"  Come  away,  come  away,  death, 
And  in  sad  cypress  let  me  be  laid ; 
Fly  away,  fly  away,  breath ; 
I  am  slain  by  a  fair  cruel  maid." 

The  pure  charm  of  poetry  and  the  mastery  of  setting  are 
perfect  in  their  assumptions  and  proportions.  The  poetic  artist 
is  working  consciously  and  he  arrives  at  what  he  intended,  and 
produces  surely  and  unmistakably  his  effects.  He  has  aban- 
doned the  drastic  portrayal  of  Eastcheap  low  life  of  the  Fal- 
staffian  scenes  and  has  passed  beyond  into  the  borders  of 
romantic  spirit  land.  But  it  is  a  land  of  poetry  and  of  music, 
as  well  as  of  romance,  and  our  ears  linger  to  catch  the  sweet 
refrains. 

Thus  the  crowning  point  of  Shakespeare's  genius  in  comedy 
was  reached  at  the  turning  of  the  century,  about  1600.  Did  he 
himself  suspect  at  this  time  the  new  provinces  that  were  still 
lying  prepared  for  him  to  enter?  With  the  exception  of  one 
play,  Romeo  and  Juliet,  all  his  work  had  hitherto  been  in  history 
and  comedy.  What  deep  experience  in  his  life  now  turned  all 
his  instincts  to  tragic  thought,  where  he  was  to  find  the 
crowning  expression  of  his  life  and  art? 

Here  we  are  brought  face  to  face,  in  our  speculations,  with  the 
mystery  of  the  Sonnets.  We  do  not  know  the  secret  history  of 
Shakespeare's  life,  nor  is  it  necessary  for  a  prurient  curiosity  to 
know.     But  we  can  guess  from  the  Sonnets  —  which  were  ap- 


HIS    GROWTH    AS    AN    ARTIST  75 

pearing  at  any  time  in  the  four  or  five  years  before  1600  and  in 
the  five  or  six  years  after  1600  —  if  they  are  to  be  taken  at  all  in 
their  natural  sense,  that  Shakespeare  had  two  friends,  the  one 
"fair,"  a  man,  and  the  other  "coloured  ill,"  a  woman,  and  his 
relations  with  these  and  through  these  taxed  the  endurance  of 
his  higher  and  spiritual  forces  to  the  utmost.  He  drank  the  cup 
of  bitterness  and  almost  of  shame  to  the  dregs,  and  yet  main- 
tained somehow  his  manhood  and  struggled  through  to  recon- 
ciliation and  to  light.  Whether  this  friend,  supposed  to  be  the 
"Mr.  W.  H."  of  the  dedication,  was  William  Herbert,  Earl  of 
Pembroke,  the  son  of  Sidney's  sister  Countess,  and  whether  the 
dark  lady  was  Mrs.  Mary  Fitton,  a  lady  in  waiting  upon  the 
Queen  who  afterwards  became  disgraced  and  lost  her  place  at 
Court  —  we  may  not  tell.  But  certain  it  seems  that  in  these 
Sonnets  are  revealed  the  sufferings  and  living  experiences  of  the 
man  who  was  feeling  all  the  tragicness  sustained  by  the  characters 
in  the  six  great  plays,  so  quickly  following  one  upon  the  other  in 
the  coming  years,  as  tragedy  had  never  before  been  attempted : 
Julius  Casar,  Hamlet,  Othello,  King  Lear,  Macbeth,  and  Antony 
and  Cleopatra. 

All  the  plays  before  1600  might  have  been  written  by  one 
without  any  such  spiritual  history  as  the  Sonnets  reveal. 
The  plays  written  after  1600  could  have  been  produced  only 
by  a  man  with  the  deep  and  true  and  unerring  sounding  of  the 
depths  of  human  knowledge  and  experience.  The  strange 
thing  is,  apparently,  that  the  poet  cannot  longer  write  comedy 
at  all.  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well  is  comedy  in  title,  but  in 
reading  seems  a  hollow  mockery.  Measure  for  Measure  is 
saved  from  a  tragic  ending  by  the  presiding  genius  of  the 
disguised  duke  as  befits  an  Arabian  Nights  story;  but  the 
utter  pathos  of  situation  and  the  noble  sustained  character  of 
poor  betrayed  Isabella,  coupled  with  the  absolute  unnaturalness 
of  her  natural  protector,  a  brother,  gives  the  impression  of  the 
keenest  pain.  Logically,  the  play  ought  to  have  been  made 
a  tragedy,  we  feel.  A  few  years  later,  perhaps,  in  one  more 
attempt,  Troilus  and  Cressida,  not  only  are  the  Homeric 
heroes  belittled  and   rendered   pitiful,   but    the    poor,    green 


76  THE     MAN     SHAKESPEARE: 

goose,  Troilus,  seems  hardly  worthy  of  a  better  fate  than 
infatuation  with  the  fickle  and  false  Greek  maiden. 

What  a  change  has  come  over  the  spirit  of  the  poet's  dreams 
since  the  august  fooling  of  Touchstone  and  the  dainty  melan- 
choly of  Rosalind  and  her  companions  in  the  Forest  of  Arden, 
and  since  the  happy  confusion  and  frolics  of  the  Twelfth  Night 
revels!  The  soul  of  the  poet  has  grown  grim  and  dark  and 
serious  and  earnest,  and  overcast  with  the  gloomy  pall  of  awe. 
The  first  two  of  the  six  named  tragedies,  Julius  Gzsar  and 
Hamlet,  display  a  reflective,  dreamy,  poetic,  high-minded 
nature,  seeking  in  vain  to  find  its  right  place  in  the  con- 
stitution of  things,  and  through  its  very  nobility  and  moral 
strength  sinking  back  hurt  and  wronged  and  wrecked  and 
ruined.  That  the  good  and  the  true  may  become  dedicated  to 
utter  destruction  with  no  apparent  fault  of  its  own;  that  the 
origin  of  evil  and  of  sin  in  the  world  is  mysterious  and 
inexplicable  and  awful  in  its  fateful  consequence,  this  is  the 
great  truth  enunciated  by  the  greatest  of  the  Shakespearean 
tragedies  as  it  was  by  the  Greek  drama  of  .^Eschylus  and 
Sophocles,  where  the  law  and  will  of  man  seem  overruled  and 
overawed  by  the  will  of  the  gods,  and  that  of  the  gods  even  sub- 
ject to  a  mysterious  and  inscrutable  Fate. 

In  Julius  Ccesar,  Brutus  seeks  to  act  solely  for  the  good  of 

his  country  and  is   open  only  to  calls  of   honor,  yet  becomes 

overwhelmed  in  the  meshes  of  the  snarers'  net,  and  his  noble 

help-mate,  Portia,  devotes  her  blessed  head  to  self-destruction. 

The  tragedy  of  the  play  is  not  the  downfall  of  Caesar,  as  the 

name  might  imply,  but  the  desolation,  caused  thereby,  of  the 

very   men  and  the  seeming  principles    of    right    and    truth 

Caesar's  fall   was   intended  to  protect.     Brutus  too  late  sees 

clear : 

"  There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 
Which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune  : 
Omitted,  all  the  voyage  of  their  life 
Is  bound  in  shallows  and  in  miseries." 

In  Hamlet,  the  soul  of  the  young  prince,  reflective  rather 
than  active,  steeped  in  intellect  but  lacking  in  will  to  execute, 


HIS    GROWTH    AS    AN    ARTIST  77 

must  realize  in  the  untimely  death  of  his  father  the  frailty 
and  inconstancy  of  woman,  and  that  woman  of  all  —  his  mother. 
And  poor  Ophelia,  innocent  of  this  knowledge,  becomes 
crazed  that  her  lover  finds  it  no  longer  time  to  dawdle  now. 

44  O,  that  this  too,  too  solid  flesh  would  melt, 
Thaw,  and  resolve  itself  into  a  dew ! 
Or  that  the  Everlasting  had  not  fixed 
His  canon  'gainst  self-slaughter !    O  God !  O  God  1 
How  weary,  stale,  flat  and  unprofitable 
Seem  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  world ! 
Fie  on'tl  O  fie!  'tis  an  un weeded  garden, 
That  grows  to  seed ;  things  rank  and  gross  in  nature 
Possess  it  merely." 

The  man  of  arms,  Othello,  is  played  on  by  the  treachery  of 
his  trusted  friend,  the  arch  fiend,  "Honest  Iago,"  in  a  trick  that 
the  brooding  Hamlet  might  have  seen  into  in  an  instant,  and 
pure  innocent  Desdemona's  candle  is  smothered  out.  "It  is 
the  cause,  it  is  the  cause,  my  soul!"  Othello's  own  words 
tell  the  rest: 

"  Speak  of  me  as  I  am  — 
Of  one  that  loved  not  wisely  but  too  well ; 
Of  one  not  easily  jealous,  but  being  wrought, 
Perplex'd  in  the  extreme." 

King  Lear  makes  the  mistake  of  casting  off  the  one 
daughter  who  can  love  her  father  and  is  thrust  forth  himself 
into  the  howling  blasting  storm  by  the  pelicans  to  whom  he 
gave  up  crown  and  all.  In  a  little  lifting  of  the  cloud  he 
recognizes  at  last  the  faithfulness  of  Cordelia,  but  only  to 
know  her  dead  in  his  arms,  hanged,  and  his  own  heart  break- 
ing in  two. 

"  Howl,  howl,  howl,  howl !     O,  you  are  men  of  stones! 
Had  I  your  tongues  and  eyes,  I'd  use  them  so 
That  heaven's  vault  should  crack.     She's  gone  forever!  " 

Macbeth's  ambition,  which  acts  upon,  and  is  reacted  upon 
in  turn  by  his  own  restless  dreams  and  those  of  his  wife, 
causes  the  murder  of  his  sovereign  and  kinsman,  who  should 
have  been  protected  by  his  own  hospitality  and  loyalty,  while 
asleep  in  his  house,  and  henceforth  the  damned  spot  will  not 
out! 


78  THE     MAN     SHAKESPEARE: 

Antony  and  Cleopatra,  at  the  height  of  the  dominion  of 
power  and  beauty,  give  up  kingdom  andjaction  and  duty  for  the 
embrace  of  love,  and  the  Battle  of  Actium  decides  a  new  turn 
of  Fortune's  wheel  in  the  world's  history. 

The  self-pride  of  Coriolanus  yields  to  the  entreaties  of  a 
mother;  but  these  can  prevail  only  at  the  price  of  the  son. 

Finally,  in  Timon  of  Athens  the  world  of  bitterness  and  scorn 
and  the  darkness  of  oblivion  settles  down  in  impenetrable  gloom 
of  misanthropy,  disgust  at  life,  and  hatred  of  the  race  itself. 

Is  this  the  time  when  Sonnet  LXVI  indicated  the  prevailing 
temper  of  mind  ? 

"  Tired  with  all  these,  for  restful  death  I  cry, 
As,  to  behold  desert  a  beggar  born, 
And  needy  nothing  trimm'd  in  jollity, 
And  purest  faith  unhappily  forsworn, 
And  gilded  honor  shamefully  misplaced, 
And  maiden  virtue  rudely  strumpeted, 
And  right  perfection  wrongfully  disgraced, 
And  strength  by  limping  sway  disabled, 
And  art  made  tongue-tied  by  authority, 
And  folly,  doctor-like,  controlling  skill, 
And  simple  truth  miscall'd  simplicity, 
And  captive  good  attending  captain  ill." 

The   gloom    is    almost    but    not    quite    impenetrable.     As 

suddenly  as  the  cloud   came,    it  lifted,   just   as   in   the  later 

Sonnets  there  is  reconciliation  and   forgiveness   and   self-for- 

getfulness: 

"  Let  me  not  to  the  marriage  of  true  minds 
Admit  impediments.    Love  is  not  love 
Which  alters  when  it  alteration  finds, 
Or  bends  with  the  remover  to  remove: 
O,  no !  it  is  an  ever-fixed  mark 
That  looks  on  tempests  and  is  never  shaken." 

Thus  the  storm  ceases  and  the  lurid  sky  becomes  lighted 
up.  There  follows  a  spirit  of  self-abnegation,  and  instead 
of  suffering  and  pain  and  disaster  there  is  emphasized  joy 
after  trouble,  happiness  after  trial,  and  reunion  after  sep- 
aration. Does  this  phase  again  mark  a  new  chapter  in  the 
poet's  spiritual  history?  At  least  the  conclusions  are  based 
upon  profound  psychological  reasons. 


ntly    I 
•fej 


HIS    GROWTH    AS    AN    ARTIST  M 

There  are  but  five  remaining  plays,  and  all  reveal  the^^ 
closest  kinship  in  this  new  spirit.  The  Shakespearean  pa"rt  / 
of  Pericles,  discarding  the  older  setting  of  a  disagreeable  ' 
story,  is  the  final  happiness  and  restoration  to  father  and 
family  of  tempest-born  and  tempest-tossed  Marina.  In 
Cymbeline  the  pure  figure  of  suffering  Imogen,  after  shameful 
persecution  and  casting  forth,  is  declared  triumphantly 
innocent  amid  the  recovery  of  her  long  lost  brothers. 
The  Winter  s  Tale,  Perdita,  the  lost  one  and  cast-away,  comes 
back  to  a  court  to  greet  a  sorrowing  father  and  to  affirm  the 
vindication  of  a  cruelly  wronged  mother  long  believed  to  be 
dead.  In  The  Tempest,  the  storm  and  shipwreck  is  the 
means  whereby  two  long  estranged  brothers  are  reunited: 
"Admired  Miranda,"  through  her  union  with  Ferdinand, 
helps  to  promote  the  bond  of  reconciliation;  Ariel  and  Caliban, 
the  beings  of  spiritual  light  and  carnal  grossness,  return  to 
the  elements  that  gave  them ;  and  the  magic  island,  a  nowhere, 
a  Utopian  dream,  becomes  dissolved  as  mere  fancy's  figment. 
Last,  the  Shakespearean  portion  of  Henry  VIII— lor  nearly 
all  agree  that  it  is  a  composite  play  —  displays  the  master's 
touch  and  the  spirit  of  this  period  in  the  tender  portrayal  of 
the  sufferings  of  the  unhappy  and  beautiful  Katharine  of 
Aragon,  who  dies  loving  her  lord  and  forgiving  her  enemies. 
As  Shakespeare  himself,  at  the  beginning  of  his  career,  had 
worked  in  others'  footsteps  and  had  acknowledged  Marlowe 
as  his  model,  so  the  master  spirit  finds  an  apt  pupil  in  the 
brightest  and  most  poetically  gifted  of  his  immediate  suc- 
cessors, John  Fletcher.  It  is  to  his  hand  that  the  draught  of 
Henry  VIII  begun  was  probably  entrusted  for  completion. 
Marina,  Perdita,  Miranda,— the  sea-born,  the  lost,  the  lovely  — 
all  Latin  names  indicating  their  origin  and  classification  in  the 
same  spirit,  together  with  Imogen,  are  heroines  imaginatively 
akin  in  these  last  plays.  These  plays  are  genuine  romances, 
written  as  ideal  fairy  tales  for  the  delight  and  pleasure  of  the 
children  of  the  poet's  old  age. 

One  final  word !     If  we  may  regard  Loves  Labour's  Lost,  a 
young  man's  fancy,  as  the  earliest  of  the  romantic  plays  in  which 


80  THE     MAN     SHAKESPEARE 

Shakespeare's  originality  and  independence  gave  any  evidence, 
it  would  be  interesting  to  place  The  Tempest,  certainly  one  of 
the  latest,  as  the  culmination  in  thought  of  a  busy  and  active 
career.  If  The  Tempest  may  be  thus  regarded  as  the  last,  it 
connects,  in  its  episode  of  the  wreck  off  "the  still-vexed  Ber- 
moothes,"  the  new  world  of  America,  governed  infancy  by  some 
happy  Prospero  having  under  control  the  powers  beneficent  and 
malevolent, —  the  Ariels  and  the  Calibans  of  our  spiritual  nature 
—  and  making  of  this  land  the  happy  ideal  State.  Plato  gave 
such  a  conception  to  the  world;  Sir  Thomas  More  gave  one; 
Bacon  and  others  gave  theirs;  and  here,  gentle  fancy's  child, 
Shakespeare,  gives  a  suggestion  of  his. 

Let  it  be  ominous  of  completed  work!  Like  Milton's  Comus, 
it  may  have  been  written  to  grace  some  festal  occasion.  The 
poet  magician  has  held  his  wand  over  these  many  creations  of 
his  brain  and  art;  and  he  takes  leave  in  this  most  thoughtful  and 
gravely  poetical  of  plays,  which  by  some  peculiar  circumstance 
became  the  first  in  order  in  the  folio  and  remains  so  in  other 
editions.  There  let  it  stand,  in  sharp  conjunction  with  The 
Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  as  an  admirable  preface  —  usually  the 
last  thing  in  a  book  to  be  written  —  and  as  an  exposition  of  the 
poet's  growth  and  evolution  in  artistic  form,  in  power  of  thought, 
and  in  strength  of  characterization. 


IV. 

The  Episodes  in  Shakespeare's 
/  Henry  VI 


From  The  Publications  of  the  Modern  Language 
Association^  Vol.  XV,  No.  3,  1900 


THE  EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S 
/  HENRY  VI 

THE  present  paper  is  drawn  from  a  number  of  notes  gradu- 
ally collected  and  is  intended  to  be  one  of  a  series  of 
studies  upon  those  plays  of  Shakespeare  belonging  to  his  earliest 
dramatic  period.  It  is  a  period  of  vital  interest  in  Shakespeare's 
work,  because  artistically  it  is  his  formative  one  and  historically 
it  connects  our  greatest  dramatist  with  his  predecessors  and  with 
characteristic  contemporary  fashions  and  productions. 

Whatever  may  be  the  exact  date  on  which  Shakespeare  came 
to  town  or  began  his  dramatic  career,  as  is  well  known,  there 
were  three  sorts  of  plays  current  and  fashionable  at  the  time. 
There  was  the  English  history  or  chronicle  play;  the  Senecan 
tragedy  of  blood;  and  the  Plautean  comedy  of  dialogue  and 
situation, —  both  of  these  last  formed  upon  classic  models. 
Shakespeare  is  at  first  no  innovator,  but  in  his  beginning  work 
is  connected  with  all  these  and  other  modes.  /  Henry  VI  is 
an  illustration  of  the  history  or  chronicle  play,  closely  followed 
by  the  Second  and  Third  Parts  and  by  Richard  III.  The  ex- 
ample of  the  tragedy  of  blood  based  on  Senecan  models  is 
Titus  Andronicus,  which,  from  certain  points  of  view,  is  a 
necessary  link  in  the  chain  of  structural  and  character  develop- 
ment from  the  crude  Senecan  imitation,  through  Marlowe's 
vehement  creations  and  Thomas  Kyd's  Spanish  Tragedy,  to  the 
masterly  Hamlet  and  Lear.  And  thirdly,  the  Comedy  of  Errors 
is  an  adaptation  of  the  bustle  and  wit  of  the  Plautean  comedy  of 
sparkling  dialogue  and  equivocal  situation.  But  comedy  was 
very  close  to  the  native  English  genius.  It  had  perked  itself  up 
long  before  in  the  face  of  the  sacred  background  in  the  Noah's 
Wife  and  the  Shepherds  of  the  Miracle  Plays ;  and  it  could  not 
be  expected  now  that  a  made-to-order  pseudo-classic  type 
should  prescribe  a  stiff  jacket  for  constant  wearing.  Lore's 
Labour's  Lost  may  derive  ultimately  from  classic  comedy,  but  is 
more  immediately  the  product  of  artificial  court  life  and  manners 


84  EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI 

and  speech  best  associated  with  the  name  of  John  Lyly.  Of  a 
phase  suggesting  the  manner  of  Robert  Greene,  The  Two 
Gentlemen  of  Verona  adopted  the  formal  and  exaggerated  love 
versus  friendship  romance  from  some  one  of  its  many  appli- 
cations in  Southern  Europe. 

Indeed,  if  anything  seems  to  be  true  of  the  beginner  Shake- 
speare, he  is  very  precocious  at  trying  conclusions  with  com- 
petitors of  every  sort  and  catching  up  any  contemporary  literary 
fashion  that  may  be  in  favor.  As  he  became  better  acquainted 
with  courtiers  and  court  life,  he  wrote  for  the  young  nobles,  and 
surely  ladies,  too,  of  London  and  Elizabeth's  court  two  love 
narratives  derived  from  Ovid:  Venus  and  Adonis  and  Lucrece. 
And  it  was  probably  not  far  from  the  same  time  that  the  young 
and  now  successful  poet  was  led,  after  well-known  imitations  of 
Italian  models,  to  indulge  in  the  first  of  "his  sugred  sonnets 
among  his  private  friends."  Such  was  the  spirit  of  the  young 
Shakespeare  in  his  early  work.  It  is  the  first  natural  step  in  his 
development  into  his  later  individual  mastery. 

The  play  of  / Henry  VI shows  Shakespeare  under  the  influence 
of  one  of  the  earliest  of  these  contemporary  literary  fashions:  he 
is  at  work  upon  the  materials  for  a  history  drama.  A  good  plea 
can  be  made,  as  it  is  made  by  Mr.  Halliwell-Phillipps  and  Pro- 
fessor Sarrazin,1  even  if  the  matter  cannot  be  definitely  de- 
termined, on  behalf  of  I  Henry  VI  as  the  earliest  of  all  the 
early  works  ascribed  to  Shakespeare.  Certainly  the  history 
play  is  the  form  in  which  Shakespeare's  genius  first  fruited  and 
soonest  became  exhausted.  It  cannot  have  been  far  from  the 
historic  year  of  the  Spanish  Armada  that  Shakespeare  began  his 
literary  work  in  London.  While  in  isolated  existence  and  in  a 
crude  form  before,  the  vogue  of  the  history  play,  its  great  tem- 
porary popularity  and  as  sudden  dying  down  after  ten  years  of 
life  (i  589-1 599),  can  be  traced  directly  to  the  national  feeling 
evoked  by  the  victories  of  the  English  over  the  Spanish  in  the 
eventful  year  of  1588.     The  new  victories  over  Spain  would 


XJ.  O.  Halliwell-Phillipps:  "Outlines  of  the  Life  of  Shakspere,"  9th  ed., 
Vol.  I,  p.  97.     G.  Sarrazin:  "William  Shakespeare's  Lehrjahre,"  1897. 


EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  /  HENRY  VI  86 

naturally  recall  the  ancient  glory  of  the  victories  of  brave  Talbot 
over  the  French;  or  the  accounts  in  the  chronicles  may  have 
been  brought  afresh  to  mind  by  existing  disturbances  in  France. 
An  older  play  may  or  may  not  have  existed  on  the  subject  It 
may  be  that  it  is  an  older  play  that  is  referred  to  by  Nash  in  Pierce 
Penniless,  or  it  may  be  that  it  is  /  Henry  VI.  In  any  case,  it 
was  a  subject  that  could  now  be  presented  and  could  be  counted 
upon  to  arouse  national  spirit  and  popular  enthusiasm.  /  Henry 
VI  breathes  at  every  pore  this  patriotic  atmosphere. 

Omitting  Henry  VIII,  which  was  written  near  the  close  of 
the  dramatist's  career  and  which  occupies  a  peculiar  place  in  his 
work,  there  are  nine  history  plays  connected  with  Shakespeare's 
name.  These  fall  into  two  groups  closely  related  in  subject, 
each  group  consisting  of  four  plays  and  thus  forming  a  sort  of 
tetralogy.  The  two  tetralogies  may  be  regarded  as  connected 
by  the  remaining  play  as  intermediate  in  point  of  development 
and  structure  and  power  of  characterization.  The  first  group  or 
tetralogy  contains  /,  //,  and  ///  Henry  VI  and  Richard  HI. 
This  group  deals  with  the  troublous  times  of  the  Wars  of  the 
Roses  which  culminate  in  the  cruel  and  monstrous  Richard. 
One  wicked  king  may  suggest  another,  particularly  if  a  play 
already  exists  on  the  subject  and  can  be  readily  worked  over, 
compressed  into  shape,  and  the  characters,  instead  of  being 
pulled  about  on  strings,  be  made  to  live.  King  John,  there- 
fore falls  between  the  two  groups;  and  in  method  of  con- 
struction and  character  development  is  to  be  compared  with 
the  two  Richards,  one  on  each  hand  and  both  showing  the 
very  different  influence  of  Marlowe's  two  manners.  The 
second  tetralogy  goes  back  in  subject  to  take  up  the  original 
cause  of  these  fateful  quarrels;  and  this  is  treated  in  a  freer, 
broader,  and  maturer  spirit  in  Richard  II,  I  and  //  Henry  IV, 
and  Henry  V.  A  little  offshoot  from  the  Falstaff  scenes  of 
Henry  IV  is  the  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor.  The  one  group 
ends  where  the  other  begins :  Henry  V  closes  with  the  crown- 
ing of  the  king  in  Paris ;  /  Henry  VI  opens  with  the  burial 
of  Henry  V  in  Westminster  Abbey  and  the  woes  ensuing 
from  his    coronation.     The    closing    words   of  the    Chorus   as 


86  EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI 

Epilogue  to  Henry  V  seem  to  lay  particular  emphasis  upon 
this  connection  and  to  take  evident  pleasure  in  the  thought 
of  work  complete,  and  of  a  series  brought  at  length  to  a 
termination. 

Thus  considered  /  Henry  VI  becomes  a  part  of  an  apparently 
larger  and  more  completely  developed  whole,  and  constitutes 
possibly  the  first  play  in  Shakespeare's  'bending'  to  prevail- 
ing fashions.  But  the  play  not  only  rewards  examination  in 
this  larger  spirit ;  looked  at  for  itself  in  structure  and  form  it 
is  no  less  interesting.  An  analysis  of  /  Henry  VI  shows 
not  the  close  fusion  of  parts  into  a  spiritual  whole  as  in  a  later 
play  like  Much  Ado  or  King  Lear,  or  even  in  a  comparatively 
early  play  like  the  Merchant  of  Venice  or  A  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream.  There  are  not  a  few  passages  of  no  mean  rhetorical 
power,  more,  indeed,  than  is  generally  supposed,  but  the 
play  as  a  whole  is  structurally  weak.  There  is  little  elaboration 
of  character  or  development  of  plot.  The  play  is  characterized 
by  the  loose  putting  together  of  parts;  each  part  being  but 
the  result  of  a  succession  or  stringing  together  of  scenes  or 
episodes. 

Briefly  and  generally  stated,  just  as  in  the  outward  form  of 
The  Shrew,  of  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  of  the  Merchant 
of  Venice,  of  Henry  IV,  of  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  of  King 
Lear,  of  Cymbeline  —  plays  taken  from  very  different  periods 
of  Shakespeare's  work  —  so  in  the  structure  of  /  Henry  VI 
there  are  two  leading  parts  into  which  the  play  falls.  These 
two  parts  may  be  generally  designated  as  the  Talbot  or 
French  portion  and  the  Henry  or  English  portion. 

As  the  Folio  edition  gives  the  play  there  are  twenty-seven 
scenes.  By  separating  the  episode  of  the  wooing  of  Margaret 
by  Suffolk  from  the  Joan  episode  that  immediately  precedes, 
as  independent  by  its  very  content,  there  will  be  twenty-eight. 
Of  these  twenty-eight  scenes  at  least  sixteen  belong  to  the 
Talbot  part,  eight  to  the  Henry  part,  and  the  remaining  four 
serve  to  connect  and  weld  these  together.  Of  these  four  one 
is  about,  and  two  others  intimately  concerned  with,  the  Talbot 
wars;  the    fourth   is   the    scene    of  the   wooing   of  Margaret. 


EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  /  HENRY  VI  87 

Also  two  of  the  eight  Henry  scenes  transfer  the  English 
king  to  France,  and  may  be  treated  as  connecting  scenes; 
certainly,  as  will  be  shown,  they  bear  a  peculiar  relation  one 
to  the  other. 

The  French  War  or  Talbot  portion,  into  which  the  Joan 
of  Arc  scenes  naturally  fall,  is  thus  apparently  the  original 
basis  of  the  play.  It  is  more  closely  related  to  the  chronicles 
of  Holinshed  and  Hall,  and  apart  from  specific  exceptions 
presently  to  be  noted,  is  the  more  archaic  in  manner  and 
principle.  Upon  this  Talbot  part  as  ground  stock  is  grafted 
the  Henry  part  —  the  scenes  comprising  the  quarrels  of  the 
nobles.  The  general  jealousy  between  Gloucester  and  Win- 
chester—  at  the  Abbey,  at  the  Tower,  in  the  Parliament  and 
in  the  Palace  of  the  King — passes  over  into  the  specific 
enmity  between  Plantagenet  and  Somerset  in  the  Temple 
Garden,  followed  at  once  by  the  death  of  Mortimer  and 
bringing  in  its  train  all  the  horrors  the  factions  of  the  Red 
and  White  Roses  entail.  These  are  hardly  one-half  so  many 
as  the  Talbot  scenes,  but  they  are  among  the  longest  and 
most  independently  developed  scenes  in  the  play. 

Also  the  four  connecting  or  welding  scenes,  which  bring 
the  Talbot  episodes  into  connection  with  the  others,  are 
largely  independent  and  free  in  development  For  instance, 
the  long  opening  scene  of  the  First  Act  is  an  introduction 
to  the  general  situation.  The  accounts  of  the  three  Messen- 
gers arriving  in  succession  interrupt  the  quarrels  of  the  nobles 
and  tell  of  Talbot's  distress.  By  the  simple  device  of  the 
messengers,  taken  from  the  old  Senecan  tragedy  to  serve  as 
chorus,  the  English  and  the  French  parts  are  brought  together 
at  the  opening  of  the  play.  Again,  into  the  midst  of  the 
Fourth  Act,  where  the  death  of  Talbot  is  developed  out  of  all 
due  proportion,  but  in  a  distinctly  elevated  strain,  by  a  poet 
who  shows  at  once  both  lyric  and  dramatic  power,  two  other 
connecting  scenes  are  thrust  Scenes  iii  and  iv  of  this  Act 
are  absolutely  parallel  in  construction :  Sir  William  Lucy 
appeals  to  both  York  and  Somerset  for  succor  in  vain,  and  the 
death  of  Talbot  is  ascribed  not  to   the  French  and  to  Joan, 


88  EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI 

but  to  the  jealousies  and  quarrels  of  the  parties  of  the  Red 
and  White  Rose.  And  in  the  last  Act  occurs  the  final  con- 
necting scene :  the  wooing  of  Margaret  by  Suffolk.  It  is  an 
episode  of  the  battlefield ;  yet  it  is  at  the  same  time  but 
another  element  of  discord  among  the  nobles :  Suffolk  becomes 
an  influence  in  moving  the  King's  choice  in  opposition  to 
Gloucester.  But  this  episode  has  a  deeper  significance  than 
helping  to  connect  the  Talbot  and  Henry  portions  of  the 
drama :  it  prepares  intimately  for  Parts  II  and  III  of  Henry 
VI,  wherein  Margaret  and  her  guilty  love  fill  so  large  a  part. 
Suffolk's  speech : 

Thus  Suffolk  hath  prevailed ;  and  thus  he  goes,  .... 
Margaret  shall  now  be  queen,  and  rule  the  king : 
But  I  will  rule  both  her,  the  king  and  realm  — 

are  the  last  words  of  Part  I,  and  a  sombre  note  is  struck  as 
the  curtain  falls.  If  ever  there  was  intentional  preparation  for 
matter  to  come,  it  is  surely  here.  So  close  is  the  connection 
that  a  recent  editor  (Donovan)  ends  the  first  play  prematurely 
and  places  the  concluding  portion  of  the  last  scene  as  the 
beginning  of  the  Second  Part.  It  is  the  figure  of  Margaret, 
amid  the  jarring  contentions  of  parties,  that  moves  sombrely 
through  the  four  plays  and  binds  the  first  tetralogy  into  a 
single  whole  —  one  ultimate  consistent  conception,  though  of 
unequal  execution.  Unhistorically,  but  poetically  enough, 
the  wooing  of  Margaret  by  Suffolk  is  placed  near  the  close  of 
the  First  Part  of  Henry  VI  and  prepares  for  Parts  II  and 
III.  Unhistorically  again,  the  figure  of  Margaret  appears  in 
the  fourth  play,  in  Richard  III,  like  a  weird  figure  of  Fate, 
proclaiming  curses  and  vengeance. 

Not  that  the  whole  plan  was  seen  from  the  beginning.  It 
gradually  grew  out  of  the  material  at  hand.  Part  I  pre- 
pared for  Parts  II  and  III;  Parts  II  and  III  are  intimately 
connected;  and  Richard  III  completed  Part  III.  Or  there 
may  have  been  a  different  order  of  writing.  So  specifically 
does  I  prepare  for  II  and  III  in  certain  particulars  that  it 
is  conceivable  that  I  was  written  after  II   and   that    III   had 


EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  /  HENRY  VI  89 

been  already  planned.1  Without  entering  here  upon  the  diffi- 
cult question  of  the  relation  of  the  Quartos  to  the  Folio  version 
of  //  and  ///  Henry  VI,  Parts  II  and  III  may  have  existed 
in  an  incomplete  shape  before  /  Henry  VI  assumed  its  present 
form.  The  author  saw  the  dramatic  possibilities  in  these 
Wars  of  Roses  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VI.  Part  I,  therefore, 
could  be  made  to  serve  as  introduction.  The  Talbot  material 
already  well  known  and  existing  in  chronicle  form,  even  if  not, 
as  is  probable,  as  an  old  play,  could  be  compressed,  altered, 
and  added  to,  and  other  non-chronicle  parts  introduced.  The 
Henry,  and  particularly  the  Margaret,  episodes  become  em- 
phasized to  accord  with  the  two  plays,  the  early  forms  of  // 
and  ///  Henry  VI,  already  existing.  Finally,  Richard  III 
served  as  conclusion,  after  II  and  III  had  been  put  into  final 
form.  Such  would  be  a  conceivable  hypothesis  as  to  the 
relation  of  Part  I  to  Parts  II  and  III. 

At  any  rate,  whatever  may  be  the  precise  order  and  dates 
of  these  several  plays  brought  in  question,  the  method  and 
spirit  of  the  writing  of  /  Henry  VI  hardly  admits  of  doubt. 
To  work  up  or  rewrite  the  Talbot  portions  of  the  Chronicles, 
probably,  though  not  necessarily,  already  crystallized  into  an 
old  play  on  the  triumph  of  "brave  Talbot"  over  the  French, 
which  possessed  the  hated  Joan  of  Arc  scenes  and  all;  to 
intensify  the  figure  and  character  of  Talbot;  to  work  over 
or  add  scenes  like  those  touching  Talbot's  death;  to  connect 
him  with  the  deplorable  struggles  of  the  nobles;  to  invent, 
by  a  happy  poetical  thought,  the  origin  of  the  factions  of  the 
Red  and  White  Roses  in  the  Temple  Garden;  to  sound  at 
once  the  note  of  weakness  in  the  king  continued  in  the 
succeeding  parts,  and  thus  convert  the  old  Talbot  material 
effectually  into  a  Henry  VI  drama;  and  to  close  with  the 
wooing  of  Margaret  as  specific  introduction  to  Part  II, — 
something  like  this  seems  the  task  that  the  dramatist  set 
himself  to  perform. 


1  Richard  Grant  White  has  a  suggestion  akin  to  this   in   his  Essay  on 
the  authorship  of  King  Henry  the  Sixth. 


90  EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  /  HENRY  VI 

Such  a  process  as  this  mingling  of  themes  in  /  Henry  VI 
best  accounts  for  obvious  difficulties:  the  confusion  of  dates, 
chronological  disorders,  and  more  than  one  bewildering  repe- 
tition of  the  same  event.  The  portrayal  of  the  death  of 
Talbot  before  the  marriage  of  the  king  to  Margaret  is 
historically  an  anomaly,  but  dramatically  easily  understood. 
Also  the  return  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  to  the  French 
occurred  historically  after  the  death  of  Joan  and  was  in  no 
wise  caused  by  her;  but  there  seems  to  have  been  some 
traditional  or  chronicle  authority  for  the  episode,  apart  from 
the  freshness  and  spirit  of  the  dramatic  conception  of  the 
passage.  Certain  obscurities  of  reference  may  likewise  be 
the  result  of  the  condensation  of  the  old  Talbot  parts,  just  as 
in  King  John  some  of  the  deeds  and  words  of  the  Bastard 
Faulconbridge  are  to  be  referred  to  the  older  play  for  proper 
understanding.  Such  may  be  a  possible  explanation  of  a 
vagueness  in  the  presentation  of  the  figures  of  the  Master 
Gunner  and  his  Boy,  and  of  certain  peculiarities  in  the 
structure  of  the  Joan  episodes  as  well  as  in  the  conception  of 
the  character  of  Joan  herself.  There  is  a  seeming  con- 
tradiction or  anomaly  in  two  references  to  Winchester  as 
Cardinal  in  the  First  and  Fifth  Acts  respectively.  In  the 
quarrel  at  the  Tower  in  Act  I,  when  Gloucester  wishes 
to  stamp  the  Cardinal's  hat  under  his  feet,  Winchester  is 
addressed  as  Cardinal.  In  Act  V  Exeter  is  surprised  to 
know  that  Winchester  is  become  Cardinal  and  to  see  the 
habiliments  of  office: 

What !  is  my  Lord  of  Winchester  install'd 
And  call'd  unto  a  cardinal's  degree  ? 

There  is  suggested  at  once  that  some  of  the  contradictions 
and  repetitions  in  the  play  can  hardly  be  due  to  anything  else 
than  to  writing  over  existing  dramatic  material  in  new  forms 
and  keeping  some  parts  of  the  old  side  by  side.  The  strongest 
internal  evidence  of  the  probable  existence  of  an  older  Talbot 
play  seems  to  rest  here;  although  one  must  be  careful  in  drawing 
too  rigid  conclusions  from  the  structure  of  a  play  that  admittedly 


EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI  91 

belongs  to  a  formative  period  and  nowhere  applies  very  closely 
the  laws  of  sequence  and  consistency. 

As  explained,  the  opening  scene  of  the  play  seems  to  serve 
for  connecting  the  two  main  parts  or  plots  of  the  drama. 
The  narrative  of  the  Messengers  jumbles  together  events  wide 
apart  in  order  to  set  forth  the  sum  total  of  results.  The  captures 
of  cities  at  various  stages  of  the  war  and  in  different  years  are 
dramatically  brought  together  in  one  breath.  The  method  is 
not  that  of  narrative  or  chronicle,  but  chronicle  transformed  into 
drama.  So  far  good ;  for  this  is  the  usual  procedure  of  the 
chronicle  play.  But  the  content  of  the  third  Messenger's  speech 
touches  material  that  is  later  specifically  enacted  in  Acts  II  and 
III:  he  relates  the  circumstances  of  Talbot's  valor  and,  in  sharp 
contrast  therewith,  the  story  of  Fastolfe's  cowardice: 

.  .  .  valiant  Talbot  above  human  thought 

Enacted  wonders  with  his  sword  and  lance : 

Hundreds  he  sent  to  hell,  and  none  durst  stand  him  ; 

Here,  there,  and  everywhere,  enraged  he  flew : 

The  French  exclaim'd,  the  devil  was  in  arms ; 

All  the  whole  army  stood  agazed  on  him : 

His  soldiers  spying  his  undaunted  spirit 

A  Talbot!  a  Talbot  I  cried  out  amain 

And  rush'd  into  the  bowels  of  the  battle. 

Here  had  the  conquest  fully  been  seal'd  up, 

If  Sir  John  Fastolfe  had  not  played  the  coward : 

He,  being  in  the  vaward,  placed  behind 

With  purpose  to  relieve  and  follow  them, 

Cowardly  fled,  not  having  struck  one  stroke.         (I,  i,  121-134.) 

This  is  reported  as  having  occurred  upon  "Retiring  from  the 
siege  of  Orleans."  Now  Scene  i  of  the  following  Act  is  laid 
"before  Orleans."  In  close  agreement  with  Holinshed  and 
Hall,  the  stage  directions  read:  "Cry:  'St.  George,'  *A  Talbot' 
The  French  leap  over  the  walls  in  their  shirts;"  and  the 
Bastard  of  Orleans  comments :  "  I  think  this  Talbot  be  a  fiend 
of  hell"  (II,  i,  38-46).  The  same  episode  is  once  more  re- 
peated a  few  lines  further:  "Alarum.  Enter  an  English 
soldier,  crying  'A  Talbot!  a  Talbot!'  They  fly,  leaving  their 
clothes  behind;"  while  one  of  the  English  soldiers  declares, 
"The    cry  of  Talbot  serves  me  for  a   sword"    (II,    i,    77-81). 


92  EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  /  HENRY  VI 

The  scene  in  Act  II  seems  to  be  the  older,  upon  which  is 
based  the  Messenger  episode.  The  account  of  the  Messenger 
is  written  for  the  special  purpose  of  introducing  the  play,  and 
the  two  versions  are  allowed  to  stand  side  by  side  in  succeeding 
Acts.  Indeed,  all  the  accounts  of  Talbot's  deeds  of  valor, 
multiplied,  as  if  to  gain  force  by  iteration,  bear  a  general 
resemblance. 

But  the  four  mystifying  repetitions  of  Fastolfe's  cowardice 
attest  even  more  pointedly  this  working-over  process.  The 
several  incidents  seem  to  have  been  drawn  from  an  episode 
in  an  old  play  based  upon  the  Chronicles,  and  perhaps  still 
need  the  old  play  to  be  perfectly  explained.  As  related,  the 
Messenger  recounts  the  Fastolfe  episode  in  the  opening  scene, 
as  happening  when  the  English  were  "retiring  from  the  siege 
of  Orleans."  There  it  is  narrative.  Upon  release  as  prisoner, 
Talbot  himself  expresses  the  same  feelings  about  Fastolfe  crying 
out  in  utter  indignation  : 

But,  Oh !  the  treacherous  Fastolfe  wounds  my  heart, 

Whom  with  my  bare  fists  I  would  execute, 

If  I  now  had  him  brought  into  my  power.  (I,  iv,  35-37) 

This  is  in  perfect  accord  with  the  narration  of  the  Messenger 
and  is  evidently  connected  with  the  latter.  It  is  one  of  Talbot's 
first  utterances  after  appearing  on  the  stage.  It  occurs  in 
the  scene  with  the  obscure  Master  Gunner  and  his  Boy.  It 
interrupts  the  sequence  like  a  passionate  outburst,  and  stands 
isolated.  Taking  this  remark  with  the  spirited  second  speech 
containing   the  extravagant  description1  of  Talbot's  treatment 


In  open  market-place  produced  they  me, 

To  be  a  public  spectacle  to  all : 

Here,  said  they,  is  the  terror  of  the  French, 

The  scarecrow  that  affrights  our  children  so. 

Then  broke  I  from  the  officers  that  led  me, 

And  with  my  nails  digg'd  stones  out  of  the  ground, 

To  hurl  at  the  beholders  of  my  shame : 

My  grisly  countenance  made  others  fly ; 

None  durst  come  near  for  fear  of  sudden  death. 

In  iron  walls  they  deem'd  me  not  secure ; 

So  great  fear  of  my  name  'mongst  them  was  spread 


EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI  83 

among  the  French  there  is  the  feeling  that  both  speeches  have 
been  worked  over  and  intensified,  consistently  with  what  the 
Messenger  has  told,  to  gain  a  stronger  impression  of  Talbot's 
character. 

In  this  aspect  the  second  reference  to  Fastolfe  is  directly  de- 
pendent upon  the  first  This  cannot  be  said  of  the  third,  how- 
ever. Act  III  enacts  before  our  eyes  the  scene  already  told  of 
and  once  again  referred  to  in  Act  I.  It  is  incorporated  in  the 
second  scene  and  is  supposed  to  occur  this  time  before  Rouen. 

[An  a/arum  :  excursions.    Enter  Sir  John  Fastolfe  and  a  Captain.'] 

Cap.    Whither  away,  Sir  John  Fastolfe,  in  such  haste  ? 
Fast.   Whither  away !  to  save  myself  by  flight : 

We  are  like  to  have  the  overthrow  again. 
Cap.    What!  will  you  fly,  and  leave  Lord  Talbot? 
Fast.  Ay, 

All  the  Talbots  in  the  world  to  save  my  life.    [Exit. 
Cap.    Cowardly  knight !  ill  fortune  follow  thee !    [Exit. 

(Ill,  ii,  104-108.) 

Fourth  and  last,  in  the  first  scene  of  Act  IV,  which,  as  we 
shall  see  later,  shows  other  signs  of  having  been  developed  from 
the  scene  immediately  preceding  (III,  iv),  by  the  addition  of 
new  material  and  a  fresh  spirit,  there  is  still  another  account  of 
the  Fastolfe  incident  It  is  this  last  account  that  follows  the  de- 
tails of  the  Chronicle  most  closely.  As  Fastolfe  bears  a  letter 
from  the  recreant  Duke  of  Burgundy  to  the  young  English  king, 
Talbot  tears  the  garter  from  Fastolfe's  leg  and  bursts  forth : 

Shame  to  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  and  thee! 

I  vow'd,  base  knight,  when  I  did  meet  thee  next, 

To  tear  the  garter  from  thy  craven's  leg,  .... 

This  dastard,  at  the  battle  of  Patay,  .... 

Like  to  a  trusty  squire  did  run  away.  ...  (IV,  i,  13-26.) 

The  Chronicle  supports  Talbot  in  placing  the  occurrence  at 
the  battle  of  Patay.     True,  the  Folio  has  "Poitiers,"  but  this 

That  they  supposed  I  could  rend  bars  of  steel 

And  spurn  in  pieces  posts  of  adamant : 

Wherefore  a  guard  of  chosen  shot  I  had 

That  walked  about  me  every  minute  while  ; 

And  if  I  did  but  stir  out  of  my  bed, 

Ready  they  were  to  shoot  me  to  the  heart.  (I,  iv,  40-56.) 


94  EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI 

is  an  obvious  slip.  But  in  the  play  the  episode  is  given  not 
once  but  thrice  and  as  occurring  at  different  places.  Clearly  all 
instances  grew  from  one. 

The  tribute  to  the  Knights  of  the  Garter,  which,  it  is  needless  to 
say,  has  no  parallel  in  the  Chronicle  and  presumably  also  not  in 
the  older  play,  and  which  Shakespeare  again  touches  upon  in 
the  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  seems  to  have  been  the  particular 
occasion  for  this  last  special  mention  of  the  Fastolfe  episode. 
In  it  Talbot  reaches  a  patriotic  strain  as  distinct,  if  not  yet  so 
noble,  as  the  spirit  of  Faulconbridge  in  King  John  and  of  the 
dying  John  of  Gaunt  in  Richard  II  It  was  this  Fastolfe  episode 
that  Shakespeare  seems  still  to  have  had  in  mind,  when,  later, 
in  Henry  IV,  his  creative  power,  no  longer  shackled  by  the 
mechanical  necessity  of  piling  scene  on  scene,  made  apparently 
out  of  this  germ  certain  of  the  Falstaff  scenes.  From  Sir  John 
Fastolfe  to  Sir  John  Falstaff  is  a  slight  change  in  letters  —  a 
change  actually  made  by  the  Folio  spelling,  which  has  "Falstaffe" 
—  and  at  least  one  of  the  spellings  in  the  Chronicles  also  trans- 
poses the  /  and  the  s.  After  "Oldcastle"  had  been  given  up, 
and  another  name  looked  for,  here  was  one  at  hand.  And  the 
running  away  at  Shrewsbury  is  not  very  unlike  the  running 
away  at  Patay ;  yet  what  a  difference  in  the  genius  of  the  two ! 
Another  point  of  contact  may  be  mentioned.  Henry  VI  dis- 
misses Fastolfe  in  these  words : 

Be  packing,  therefore,  thou  that  wast  a  knight : 

Henceforth  we  banish  thee,  on  pain  of  death.      (IV,  i,  46,  47.) 

There  was  a  fat,  white-haired  old  knight  to  whom  another 
royal  speech  was  made : 

I  know  thee  not,  old  man :  fall  to  thy  prayers ; .  .  . 

and  with  the  very  words : 

I  banish  thee,  on  pain  of  death.  (//  Henry  IV,  V,  v.) 

As  intimated,  the  freely  developed  Scene  i  of  Act  IV  bears 
a  curious  relation  to  the  fina4  short  scene  of  Act  III.  The 
two  scenes  must  be  reckoned  together.  In  the  tabular  state- 
ment above  they  were  counted  as  belonging  to  the  Henry  and 


EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI  96 

English  portion ;  but  with  perhaps  better  reason  they  would 
be  treated  as  welding  and  connecting  parts.  Both  have  the 
King  in  Paris;  both  have  identically  the  same  actors;  both 
have  the  same  two  situations,  viz.,  Talbot's  interview  with 
the  King,  and  the  quarrel  of  Vernon  and  Basset,  the  followers 
respectively  of  York  and  Somerset  But  the  second  scene  is 
developed  far  beyond  the  former,  and  the  spirit  of  the  two 
is  equally  different  One  is  condensed  and  compressed  ;  the 
other  elaborated  and  heightened  by  fresh  details.  In  place 
of  the  former  bareness,  in  the  new  scene  the  King  is  ready  for 
coronation,  and  a  fictitious  Governor  of  Paris,  who,  however, 
does  not  appear,  is  addressed.  Gloucester  takes  a  prominent 
part  in  directing ;  Talbot  throws  the  insult  upon  Fastolfe,  for 
the  fourth  time  repeated,  and  pays  the  tribute  to  the  Knights 
of  the  Garter;  the  disaffection  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  is 
discussed  in  council  and  a  plan  of  action  determined  upon ; 
Vernon  and  Basset  the  respective  champions  of  York  and 
Somerset  lay  their  quarrel  in  detail  before  the  King,  where- 
upon even  fiery,  immoderate  Gloucester  becomes  for  the  nonce 

peacemaker : 

Confounded  be  your  strife ! 
And  perish  ye,  with  your  audacious  prate!      (IV,  i,  123,  124.) 

The  King  has  his  chance  to  "play  the  orator,"  not  unlike 
the  later  opening  scene  of  Richard  //,  seeking  to  quiet  the 
strife  of  subjects  ;  and  Exeter's  prophetic  notes  close  the  epi- 
sode. A  well-packed  and  strong  scene  it  is,  unquestionably. 
The  newer  scene  seems  to  have  been  suggested  by  and  worked 
out  of  the  former ;  but  even  after  this  had  been  done  the  former 
crude  and  undeveloped  one  was  still  left  side  by  side  as  intro- 
ductory. 

There  are  other  indications  that  point  to  the  existence  of 
an  older  Talbot  play.  The  Talbot  portion  of  the  play  stands 
generally  much  lower  in  spirit  and  in  average  excellence. 
Some  part  of  this  impression  comes  from  its  necessary  character. 
The  bustle  and  confusion  of  battle,  the  passing  in  and  out  of 
English  and  French  soldiers,  the  scraps  of  French,  the  cheap 
references   to   classic   mythology   and   tradition — all    combine 


96  EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI 

to  give  an  archaic  impression  to  the  style.  The  many  re- 
ferences to  'Hunger'  are  an  almost  necessary  implication  from 
the  scenes  of  war  and  are  touches  possibly  derived  from  an 
older  Talbot  play.  They  can  hardly  be,  as  Professor  Sarrazin 
seems  almost  to  intimate,  a  reflex  of  Shakespeare's  own  starving 
condition  in  his  early  London  years.  Likewise,  the  religious 
expressions  that  fall  from  Talbot's  lips,  natural  as  they  are  for 
intensifying  one  who  was  the  chief  hero  of  an  old  play,  have 
an  archaic  sound  and  are  apparently  stray  notes  from  older 
material.  Luther-like,  Talbot  exclaims  (II,  i,  26),  "God  is  our 
fortress;"  and  in  his  report  to  the  King  in  the  clearly  older  of 
the  two  scenes  discussed  (III,  iv,  11,  12),  he  — 

Ascribes  the  glory  of  his  conquest  got 
First  to  my  God  and  next  unto  your  grace. 

Quite  out  of  the  same  intense  spirit  of  narrow  patriotism  would 
come  the  crude,  disdainful  and  insulting  references  to  the 
enemy,  all  belonging  to  the  French  war  episodes.  In  this  way 
is  best  understood  the  conception  of  the  Joan  of  Arc  scenes. 
All  of  the  few  touches  added  here  and  there  to  her  characteri- 
zation seem  fresher  and  more  modern.  Many  of  the  barer 
references  to  the  simple  home  and  country  life  of  the  day 
could  also  possibly  be  traced  back  to  older  material.  It  is  not 
the  reference  in  itself  to  the  country  and  to  Nature,  but  the 
aptness  and  freshness  and  spirit  that  we  feel  is  the  mark  of  the 
young  Shakespeare.  The  illustrations  may  be  seen  in  the 
quotations  collected  by  Professor  Sarrazin  in  his  excellent  mono- 
graph on  /  Henry  VI  in  "William  Shakespeare's  Lehrjahre," 
although  the  author  is  not  inclined  to  make  any  such  distinc- 
tions. But  a  difference  in  treatment  in  different  parts  is  very 
evident,  which  shows  at  least  tendencies  and  influences. 

The  scenes  of  the  Talbot  portions  are  usually  derived  from 
the  chronicles  of  Holinshed  and  Hall,  the  epitaph  of  Talbot, 
and  probably  one  or  two  other  isolated  sources ; 1  and  the 
frequent  compressions  and  omissions,   and    occasional    expan- 

1  See  "  Shakespeare's  Holinshed,"  by  W.  G.  Boswell-Stone,  1896,  which  gives 
in  detail  the  treatment  of  the  sources  in  the  play  as  we  now  have  it. 


EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI  97 

sions,  may  best  be  explained,  as  in  King  John,  by  the  interven- 
tion of  an  intermediate  play.  Such  an  expansion  is  the  episode 
of  the  Countess  of  Auvergne.  The  episode  is  not  found  in 
Holinshed  and  Hall,  and  as  the  play  stands,  it  is  both  clumsily 
and  unnecessarily  introduced.  It  is  prominent  in  position,  but 
unsatisfactory  in  effect  It  is  designed  to  emphasize  Talbot's 
valor  and  resource,  as  would  befit  a  play  specifically  on  Talbot's 
bravery,  but  it  seems  too  crude  to  have  been  developed  of  itself 
from  the  context  and  by  the  creator  of  the  two  scenes  that 
immediately  follow :  the  plucking  of  the  roses  in  the  Temple 
Garden  and  the  death  of  Mortimer.  The  episode  seems  based 
on  an  old  motif  and  recalls  similar  traditions  from  the  Robin 
Hood  and  Alexander1  legends,  and  the  Samson  and  Delilah 
story  in  the  Bible.  It  concludes  Scene  ii  and  fills  all  of  Scene 
iii  in  Act  II.  The  obsequies  of  Salisbury  over,  the  usual 
Senecan  figure  of  the  Messenger  enters  and  inquires  for  "the 
warlike  Talbot"  The  Queen  of  Sheba  desired  to  see  Solomon 
in  all  his  glory,  and  "The  virtuous  lady,  Countess  of  Auvergne," 
craves  the  presence  of  Talbot  in  her  castle.  This  close  of 
Scene  ii  is  the  introduction  to  the  scene  that  follows.  The 
Countess  gives  her  porter  instructions  : 

The  plot  is  laid :  if  all  things  fall  out  right, 

I  shall  as  famous  be  by  this  exploit 

As  Scythian  Tomyris  by  Cyrus'  death.  (II,  iii,  4-6.) 

Talbot  securely  within  doors,  she  calls  him  her  prisoner ;  but 
the  hero  "winds  his  horn,"  his  soldiers  break  in,  and  the  Coun- 
tess and  her  plotters  are  confounded.  Not  however,  before 
the  Countess  and  Talbot  have  indulged  in  a  quibble  on  the 
conceit  of  "the  shadow"  and  "the  substance  :" 

Countess.    Long  time  thy  shadow  hath  been  thrall  to  me.  .  . . 
But  now  the  substance  shall  endure  the  like.  .  . . 


Talbot.       No,  no,  I  am  but  shadow  of  myself: 

You  are  deceived,  my  substance  is  not  here ;  .  .  .  [etc.] 

(II,  iii,  3603.) 

1  In  the  "  Wars  of  Alexander,"  edited  by  W.  W.  Skeat,  E.E.T.S.,  Extra 
Series,  xlvii,  pp.  264-265,  Alexander  is  taken  prisoner  by  Candace  and 
quails  before  her.  As  in  the  story  of  Delilah,  the  episode  shows  the 
woman's  wit  rather  than  the  hero's  resource. 

8 


98  EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI 

It  is  a  quibble  that  Hamlet  engages  in  with  his  Wittenberg 
university  friends,  Guildenstern  and  Rosencrantz,  though  not  at 
such  intolerable  length,  and  Schmidt's  Lexicon  will  show  many 
others.  We  are  almost  on  the  ground  of  the  verbal  quibbles  in 
Love' s  Labour*  s  Lost,  Comedy  of  Errors,  and  other  early  comedies  ; 
only,  bad  as  many  of  these  latter  are,  they  are  fresher  and  more 
concise  in  treatment  It  may  be  that  the  young  Shakespeare 
found  this  episode  in  the  old  play,  and  with  the  inveterate  love 
for  word-punning  in  his  early  work,  sounded  the  many  changes 
on  these  words.  In  a  later  scene  in  the  play  the  same  figure  is 
again  employed — this  time  more  happily  and  poetically — in 
connection  with  the  terms  of  peace  offered  to  the  French  King : 

Must  he  be  then  as  shadow  of  himself  ? 

Adorn  his  temple  with  a  coronet, 

And  yet  in  substance  and  authority, 

Retain  but  privilege  of  a  private  man?       (V,  iv,  133-136.) 

In  one  or  two  places  in  the  Joan  episodes  expansions  and  ad- 
ditions beyond  the  chronicle  narrative  can  be  observed.  In 
Joan's  first  appearance  at  the  French  Court  there  are  one  or  two 
lines  of  freshness,  of  which  distinctly  the  best  are  those  of  the 
concluding  speech,  I,  ii  : 

Expect  Saint  Martin's  summer,  halcyon  days, 

Since  I  have  entered  into  these  wars. 

Glory  is  like  a  circle  in  the  water, 

Which  never  ceaseth  to  enlarge  itself 

Till  by  broad  spreading  it  disperse  to  nought.     ( I,  ii,  133-136.) 

But  it  is  in  the  interview  with  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  (III,  iii) 
that  Joan  is  at  her  best  She  breathes  a  patriotic  spirit  in 
appealing  to  his  love  of  country,  his  pride,  his  self-interest  to 
return  to  the  bosom  of  his  bleeding  land.  The  patriotism  is  as 
marked,  albeit  in  a  greater  lyric  strain  befitting  the  woman's 
voice,  as  the  martial  tone  of  Talbot  in  the  Garter  scene  before 
the  Knights  of  England.  The  episode  has  something  of  the 
spirit  of  the  best  scenes,  but  its  effect  is  immediately  destroyed 
by  the  exclamation:  "Done  like  a  Frenchman:  turn,  and  turn 
again !"     Here  we  are  back  at  the  old  commonplace  again  ! 

The  interview  between  Joan  and  her  father  (V,   iv,  11.  2-33) 


EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI  99 

is  also  not  in  the  Chronicle.  The  thirty  lines  undoubtedly 
display  something  of  the  same  pathos  between  parent  and  child 
that  the  death  scene  of  Talbot  shows.  It  is  a  development,  but 
just  as  the  Countess  of  Auvergne  episode  is  a  development 
Compared  with  the  enthusiasm  of  Talbot's  feelings  in  the 
corresponding  scene,  it  seems  archaic  in  spirit  and  method,  and 
apparently  with  the  other  Joan  episodes  must  be  based  upon  the 
older  Talbot  material :  Joan's  soliloquy  (V,  iii),  calling  upon 
"ye  charming  spells  and  periapts,"  is  in  the  same  category.  It 
falls  far  below  the  very  little  later  Shakespeare,  as  it  falls  below 
Schiller's  lyric  monologue  in  the  Jungfrau,  which  was  yet  evi- 
dently inspired  by  it. 

The  death  of  Talbot  and  the  tenderness  and  love  of  the  hero 
for  his  son  gave  the  poet — creator  or  reviser — opportunity  for 
extended  idyllic  treatment  Scenes  ii  to  vii  inclusive,  of  the 
Fourth  Act,  fall  together  for  this  purpose.  They  are  developed 
out  of  the  Talbot  parts,  and  in  contrast  with  the  compression  and 
obscurity  at  other  points  have  been  worked  out  in  the  fullest 
detail.  The  work  is  done,  too,  in  a  way  to  effect  a  closer  union 
between  the  Talbot  and  the  Henry  portions.  The  first  of  the 
six  scenes  strikes  the  note  of  those  to  follow:  it  consists  of  three 
solemn  speeches,  by  Talbot  by  the  opposing  General  who  is  not 
named,  and  again  by  Talbot  The  thought  is  a  repetition,  a 
summary  of  the  ideas  as  to  Talbot's  character,  already  often  ex- 
pressed, but  here  more  highly  figurative  and  poetic.  There  is  a 
softer  and  more  flexible  spirit  brought  out  than  in  the  stern 
Talbot  we  have  had  before,  and  it  finds  fitting  lyric  expression. 
Talbot's  comparison  of  his  position  with 

A  little  herd  of  England's  timorous  deer, 

Mazed  with  a  yelping  kennel  of  French  curs!       (IV,  ii,  46,  47.) 

stirs  a  sympathetic  note. 

The  next  two  scenes  are  mere  pendants,  each  necessary  for 
the  other,  but  in  themselves  serving  only  to  develop  the 
episode  of  the  death  and  draw  out  the  closing  scenes  to  greater 
length  so  as  to  become  more  effective.  In  each  Sir  William 
Lucy  enters ;  he  urges  York  in  the  one  and  Somerset  in   the 


100  EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI 

other  to  haste  to  the  aid  of  Talbot ;  but  mutual  jealousy  keeps 
them  still.  Thus  Talbot's  fate  is  dramatically  determined  by 
the  quarrel  of  the  roses  in  the  Temple  Garden  : 

The  fraud  of  England,  not  the  force  of  France, 

Hath  now  entrapp'd  the  noble-minded  Talbot.     (IV,  iv,  36,  37.) 

It  is  one  of  the  first  blights  of  the  struggle  between  the  Red 
and  the  White  Rose. 

Again,  Scene  v  and  Scene  vi  are  parallel.  The  two  scenes 
portray  at  length  the  love  of  father  and  son,  and  prepare  for 
the  climax  reserved  for  the  last  scene.  It  seems  as  if  the  poet 
wished  to  dwell  upon  the  circumstance  and  to  repeat  himself 
again  and  again.  The  dialogue  between  father  and  son  reveals 
this  elaboration.  It  begins  in  blank  verse,  but  quickly  turns 
into  rhyme,  and  into  rhyme  for  a  purpose  :  to  bring  out  the  lyrical 
accent  of  the  lament.  It  is  as  if  after  the  first  speech  between 
the  two  in  blank  verse,  the  idea  must  be  iterated  and  reiterated, 
and  rhyme  is  necessary  for  this.  It  is  at  this  point  in  Scene  v 
that  the  feeling  seems  to  reach  a  climax.  It  is  a  Damon  and 
Pythias  or  David  and  Jonathan  sort  of  friendship,  almost  more 
than  the  tie  that  binds  father  and  son,  which  finds  lyrical 
expression.  In  its  repetition  of  various  phases  and  elaboration 
of  the  sentiment  it  recalls  the  strong  scene  between  father  and 
son  in  the  rugged,  early  Brome  play  of  Abraham  and  Isaac. 
The  expression  of  the  mutual  love  and  devotion  of  father  and 
son  is  strengthened  by  the  conscious  form  employed :  the 
stichomythia  or  rapid  succession  of  speech  and  reply  united  to 
rhyme.     The  intensifying  effect  is  evident : 

Tal.  If  we  both  stay,  we  both  are  sure  to  die. 

John.  Then  let  me  stay ;  and,  father,  do  you  fly.  .  . . 

Tal.  Shall  all  thy  mother's  hopes  lie  in  one  tomb  ? 

John.  Ay,  rather  than  I'll  shame  my  mother's  womb. 

Tal.  Upon  my  blessing,  I  command  thee  go. 

John.  To  fight  I  will,  but  not  to  fly  the  foe. 

Tal.  Part  of  thy  father  may  be  saved  in  thee. 

John.  No  part  of  him  but  will  be  shame  in  me.  (IV,  v,  io-39.) 

The  two  scenes  have  the  same  situation ;  except  that  one  is 
before    battle  and    the    other   in    the   midst   of  it     The  very 


EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  /  HENRY  VI  101 

repetition  strikes  a  deeper  note  and  emphasizes  the  desperate- 
ness  of  the  situation. 

Last  scene  of  all  is  the  death  of  both  son  and  father.  The 
comparison  with  Icarus  is  repeated,  and  Talbot's  last  words 
over  his  fallen  son  are  full  of  the  conceits  of  metaphysical 
poetry,  characteristic  of  passages  in  this  play,  in  many  of  the 
early  undoubted  Shakespeare  plays,  as  well  as  in  other  pro- 
ductions of  the  time : 

Brave  death  by  speaking,  whether  he  will  or  no ; 

Imagine  him  a  Frenchman  and  thy  foe. 

Poor  boy !  he  smiles,  methinks,  as  who  should  say, 

Had  death  been  French,  then  death  had  died  to-day.  .  .  . 

Soldiers,  adieu !  I  have  what  I  would  have, 

Now  my  old  arms  are  young  John  Talbot's  grave.     (IV,  vii,  25-32.) 

All  the  critics  have  pointed  out  the  similarity  of  this  last  line 
to  a  passage  in  Part  III,  and  of  both  to  a  line  in  Marlowe's 
Jew  of  Malta:  "These  arms  of  mine  shall  be  thy  sepulchre" 
(1.  1 1 60). 

In  the  divisions  into  scenes,  this  scene  might  have  ended 
here,  and  a  new  one  have  begun.  The  reference  to  the 
quarrels  of  York  and  Somerset  gives  the  connection.  The 
cry  of  the  father's  love  for  his  child,  however  overwrought 
and  extravagant,  is  the  clearest  single  note  struck  in  the 
whole  play  amid  the  jar  of  quarrels  and  the  rush  of  battle. 
Yet  how  far  away  we  are  from  Lear's  cry  over  Cordelia  dead  in 
his  arms: 

Howl,  howl,  howl,  howl!    O,  you  are  men  of  stones: 

Had  I  your  tongues  and  eyes,  I'd  use  them  so 

That  Heaven's  vault  should  crack.     She's  gone  forever  I 

(V,  iii,  257-259.) 

Repetitions  of  episodes  and  situations  become  so  frequent  in 
the  play  that  they  are  a  characteristic  feature  of  the  structure 
and  style.  The  repetition  is  often  avowed  and  of  purpose  ; 
sometimes  it  is  derived  from  old  forms  of  the  Senecan  tragedy 
and  designed  as  a  mere  accumulation  of  horror  or  intensifying 
of  effect  Take  the  device  of  the  three  messengers  in  Act  I, 
Scene  i,  coming  in  one  after  another  recounting  disasters.  Mis- 
fortunes  never  come  single.     This  is  repeated  in  Richard  III 


102  EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI 

where  there  are  four  Messengers  instead  of  three.  Also  in 
Richard  HI  there  are  two  wooing  scenes  under  similar  revolting 
conditions ;  three  women  sitting  in  a  row  lamenting  the  taking 
off  of  their  dear  ones ;  and  the  long  array  of  ghosts  that  passes 
Richard's  tent  in  solemn  pageant  In  this  sort  of  tragedy  mere 
number  counts. 

In  /  Henry  VI  there  are  numerous  examples  of  both  avowed 
and  unconscious  repetition.  In  Act  I,  Scene  iv,  Talbot  solilo- 
quizes over  "Old  Salisbury,"  "mirror  of  all  martial  men,"  with 
the  usual  conceits  of  style : 

One  eye  thou  hast,  to  look  to  heaven  for  grace : 

The  sun  with  one  eye  vieweth  all  the  world.      (I,  ii,  83,  84.) 

In  Act  II,  Scene  ii,  Talbot  performs  the  obsequies  of  Salisbury 
in  Orleans.  In  the  corresponding  scene  of  the  next  Act  (III,  ii) 
he  orders  the  obsequies  of  Bedford  in  Rouen  : 

A  braver  soldier  never  couched  lance, 

A  gentler  heart  did  never  sway  in  court.  (HI,  ii,  134, 135.) 

Act  III,  Scene  i,  closes  with  a  didactic  soliloquy  of  Exeter's, 
who,  like  a  Chorus  for  the  play,  comments  on  the  dissensions 
among  the  nobles : 

As  fester'd  members  rot  but  by  degree, 

Till  bones  and  flesh  and  sinews  fall  away, 

So  will  this  base  and  envious  discord  breed.     (Ill,  i,  192-194.) 

Precisely  one  act  later  the  first  scene  of  Act  IV  closes  in  the 
the  same  way:  Exeter  is  again  alone  and  soliloquizes  on  division 
and  discord. 

Nearly  all  the  scenes  have  the  same  construction  and  end  in 
formal  monologues,  or  summarizing  or  anticipatory  speeches. 
The  first  scene  of  the  First  Act  closes  formally  as  it  was  intro- 
duced :  with  a  speech  parallel  in  structure  from  each  of  the  four 
Dukes  who  introduce  the  scene  as  mourners  about  Henry's 
funeral,  aptiy  characterized  by  Mr.  Wendell  as  an  "operatic 
quartette."1  In  Act  I  the  French  King  Charles  closes  ii  and 
iv ;  Talbot  iv  and  v,  the  latter  a  monologue ;  the  Mayor  of  Lon- 

1  Barrett  Wendell:  "William  Shakspere,"  1894,  p.  78. 


EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI  l<> 

don,  who  is  made  a  comical  figure,  iiL  In  Act  II,  Scenes  iv  and 
v  are  both  closed  by  Plantagenet,  the  latter  in  formal  monologue 
form.  In  Act  III,  Scene  i  ends  with  Exeter's  soliloquy;  ii  with 
Talbot's  tribute  to  Bedford.  In  Act  IV,  i  ends  with  Exeter's 
soliloquy  again ;  iii  and  iv  with  Sir  William  Lucy ;  and  ii,  v,  vi, 
and  the  death  scene  in  vii  with  Talbot  In  Act  V,  iii  and  v  end 
with  Suffolk  and  iv  with  York. 

Exeter's  genius  at  presaging  evil  is  apparent,  and  he  recalls  a 
prophecy  of  ill  on  Henry : 

Which  in  the  time  of  Henry  named  the  Fifth 

Was  in  the  mouth  of  every  tucking  babe.     (Ill,  i,  196,  197.) 

In  a  later  act  he  recalls  another  prophecy  on  Cardinal 
Winchester : 

Henry  the  Fifth  did  sometime  prophesy, 
"If  once  he  come  to  be  a  cardinal, 
Hell  make  his  cap  co-equal  with  the  crown."     (V,  i,  31-33.) 

There  are  other  prophecies  in  the  play.  King  Henry  re- 
members a  speech  of  his  father,  dramatically  justified  in  the 
tenor  of  the  play,  but  actually  incongruous,  as  the  young  king 
was  but  "an  infant  nine  months  old"  at  Henry  V's  death. 

The  greatest  prophecy  is  that  of  Warwick  in  the  Temple 
Garden  (II,  iv,  124-127);  and  this  is  answered  in  York's 
spirited  outburst  of  rhetoric  in  the  last  Act  addressed  to 
Warwick  and  anticipating  other  tragedies  to  come : 

Is  all  our  travail  turn'd  to  this  effect? 


O,  Warwick !  Warwick  !     I  foresee  with  grief 

The  utter  loss  of  all  the  realm  of  France.       (V,  iv,  102-112.) 

The  most  poetical  instance  of  this  distinct  monologue  form  is 
in  the  scene  freely  invented,  where  the  dying  Mortimer  is 
brought  in  on  a  chair  by  his  gaolers  at  the  Tower.  Every- 
thing in  these  words  seems  frankly  Shakespearean  : 

Kind  keepers  of  my  weak  decaying  age, 
Let  dying  Mortimer  here  rest  himself. 
Even  like*  man  new  haled  from  the  rack, 
So  fare  my  limbs  with  long  imprisonment ; 


104  EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI 

And  these  grey  locks,  the  pursuivants  of  death, 
Nestor-like  aged  in  an  age  of  care, 
Argue  the  end  of  Edmund  Mortimer.  .  . . 
Just  death,  kind  umpire  of  men's  miseries, 
With  sweet  enlargement  doth  dismiss  me  hence. 

(II,  v,  1-16;  28-30.) 

The  scene  closes  with  the  same  soliloquy  form,  this  time  by 
Richard  Plantagenet : 

And  peace,  no  war,  befall  thy  parting  soul ! 
In  prison  hast  thou  spent  a  pilgrimage 
And  like  a  hermit  overpass'd  thy  days.  .  .  . 
Here  dies  the  dusky  torch  of  Mortimer, 
Choked  with  ambition  of  the  meaner  sort. 

(II,  v,  115-117;  122,  123.) 

Tenderness  between  parent  and  child  is  a  thought  reiterated : 
strongest  between  Talbot  and  young  John,  it  is  expressed  by 
the  father  of  Joan  towards  his  child,  and  intimated  in  the 
slightly  developed  figures  of  the  Master  Gunner  and  his  Boy. 

Quarrels  break  out  everywhere.  Those  between  Gloucester 
and  Winchester  sound  above  the  laments  over  the  dead  king 
at  his  funeral  in  the  Abbey.  They  break  out  afresh  at  the 
Tower,  in  the  Paraliament  House  at  the  coronation,  even  at 
the  end  in  the  King's  Palace,  and  continue  into  Part  II.  It 
is  only  a  reflection  and  intensifying  of  this  first  quarrel  to 
introduce  the  later  quarrels  of  the  Red  and  White  Roses; 
and  after  the  chief  scene  in  the  Temple  Garden  between 
Somerset  and  Plantagenet,  it  is  the  veritablest  echo  to  have 
the  entirely  superfluous  quarrel  of  their  followers,  Vernon  and 
Basset,  unnecessarily,  repeated. 

The  two  scenes  between  Gloucester  and  Winchester  at  the 
Tower  and  at  the  Parliament  are  closely  alike  in  their  structural 
development.  The  same  situation  with  Gloucester  and  Win- 
chester and  their  followers  is  repeated,  but  in  the  second  in- 
stance the  hurly-burly  is  only  a  part  of  a  larger  and  more  com- 
plex situation.  One  prepared  for  the  other  and  suggested 
merely  certain  features.  The  hurly-burly  between  the  followers 
of  Gloucester  and  Winchester  is  as  noisy  as  the  quarrels  of  the 
Montagu  and  Capulet  factions  in  the  streets  of  Verona,  and  the 


EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  /  HENRY  VI  105 

Mayor,  drawn  as  a  comical  figure  and  as  clownish  as  the  Serving 
Men  he  chides,  rushes  in  in  both  scenes  to  put  an  end  to  the 
uproar  : 

Good  God,  these  nobles  should  such  stomachs  bear ! 

I  myself  fight  not  once  in  forty  year.  (I,  iii,  89,  90.) 

Again  he  complains : 

Our  windows  are  broke  down  in  every  street 

And  we  for  fear  compell'd  to  shut  our  shops.     ( 1 1 1 ,  i,  84,  85. ) 

Probably  enough  the  Mayor  and  the  corporation,  in  deserving 
this  portraiture,  were  not  altogether  favorable  to  the  theatre 
companies.  The  attitude  of  the  play  towards  the  mob,  "the 
many-headed  multitude,"  is  the  same  as  that  in  the  Jack  Cade 
scenes  in  Part  II,  the  same  attitude  as  in  Henry  IV,  in  Julius 
Ceesar,  and  in  Coriolanus. 

The  Temple  Garden  scene  is  a  new  and  specific  development 
of  the  old  quarrel  among  the  nobles.  For  the  rest  of  the  play 
the  double  quarrels  exist  side  by  side,  those  of  Gloucester  and 
Winchester  yielding  in  interest  to  those  between  Somerset  and 
Plantagenet  The  poetical  happiness  of  the  episode  of  the 
plucking  of  the  Red  and  White  Roses  has  been  often  admired. 
Analyzed,  it  contains  the  usual  stylistic  and  metrical  character- 
istics of  the  undoubted  early  Shakespeare  plays.  It  is  full  of 
plays  on  words,  uses  of  conceits,  epithets,  comparisons,  antitheses, 
repartee,  stichomythia,  and  various  figures  of  speech  and  rhe- 
torical tricks — the  characteristics1  generally  of  the  Henry  and 
English  portions  of  the  play.  Warwick's  speech  in  his  indisposi- 
tion to  commit  himself,  is  characteristic  of  this  freshness  of  spirit:* 

1  Illustrations  of  the  metrical  and  rhetorical  peculiarities  of  the  play  are 
abundantly  given  in  the  pages  of  Professor  Sarrazin :  "  William  Shakespeare's 
Lehrjahre,"  1897;  Goswin  Konig :  "Der  Vers  in  Shakspere's  Dramen," 
1888;  Leopold  Wurth:  "  Das  Wortspiel  bei  Shakspere,"  1895;  M.  Basse: 
"  Stijlaffectatie  bij  Shakespeare,"  1895;  G.  Kramer:  "Die  Anwendung  der 
Stichomythie  neben  Gleichklang  bei  Shakespeare." 

1  This  speech  of  Warwick  and  Talbot's  comparison  of  his  position  with  M  a 
little  herd  of  England's  timorous  deer,"  on  page  99,  are  the  two  passages 
cited  at  the  meeting  of  the  Modern  Language  Association  by  Prof.  Hulme 
from  Madden's  "  Diary  of  Master  William  Silence."  See  Modern  Language 
Notes,  Feb.,  1900.  Both  passages  occur  in  the  parts  clearly  added  and 
worked  into  the  older  play,  according  to  the  foregoing  analysis. 


106  EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI 

Between  two  hawks,  which  flies  the  higher  pitch ; 

Between  two  dogs,  which  hath  the  deeper  mouth ; 

Between  two  blades,  which  bears  the  better  temper ; 

Between  two  horses,  which  doth  bear  him  best ; 

Between  two  girls,  which  hath  the  merriest  eye  ; 

I  have  perhaps  some  shallow  spirit  of  judgement ; 

But  in  these  nice,  sharp  quillets  of  the  law, 

Good  faith,  I  am  no  wiser  than  a  daw.  (II,  iv,  ii-iS.) 

An  apt  illustration  of  the  elaboration  of  a  conceit  may  be 
found  in  the  retort  of  Somerset  and  Vernon  the  (plucking  of  the 
red  and  white  roses  is  referred  to) : 

Som.    Prick  not  your  finger  as  you  pluck  it  off, 

Lest  bleeding  you  do  paint  the  white  rose  red 
And  fall  on  my  side  so,  against  your  will. 

Ver.   If  I,  my  lord,  for  my  opinion  bleed, 

Opinion  shall  be  surgeon  to  my  hurt 

And  keep  me  on  the  side  where  still  I  am.     (II,  iv,  49-54.) 

And  this  spirited  manner  of  speech  continues  through  many- 
lines. 

Most  of  the  critics  ordinarily  speak  of  the  rose  scene  as 
poetical  and  worthy  of  Shakespeare,  but  give  less  thought  to 
the  following  one  of  the  dying  Mortimer  and  hardly  any  to  the 
Parliament  scene  that  comes  hard  upon  this  in  opening  a  new 
Act.  Yet,  from  an  investigation  by  one  of  my  students,  all 
three  scenes,  which  belong  to  the  Henry  portion  of  the  play, 
seem  to  agree  very  nearly  in  uniformity  of  mere  mechanical  and 
metrical  execution.  The  real  difference  lies  in  the  poetic  oppor- 
tunity that  a  certain  scene  by  virtue  of  its  inherent  poetical 
character  must  possess  —  an  opportunity  which,  amid  the  wel- 
tering material  of  the  play,  the  playwright  made  for  himself. 

The  fifth  and  last  scene  of  Act  II,  portraying  the  death  of 
Mortimer,  belongs  intimately  to  its  predecessor,  the  Temple 
Garden  scene,  as  further  explanatory.  It  is  unhistoric  in 
setting,  and  like  its  forerunner,  its  creation  is  purely  for  a 
dramatic  purpose.  After  the  exciting  scene  in  the  Temple 
Garden  Plantagenet  hastens  to  the  Tower  to  greet  his  im- 
prisoned uncle,  Mortimer,  and  to  receive  his  dying  benedic- 
tions.    In  a  weak  and  dying  state   Mortimer  is  brought  on 


EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  /  HENRY  VI  107 

the  stage  like  the  dying  John  of  Gaunt  in  Richard  II 
and  the  persecuted  Queen  Katharine  in  Henry  VIII.  The 
insertion  of  the  genealogy,  as  reason  for  the  contention  in 
the  Garden  and  for  future  struggles,  is  a  method  repeated 
in  later  history  plays,  notably  in  Henry  Vt  under  similar 
compunction.  It  is  a  union  of  dramatic  and  epic  offices  like 
the  part  of  the  Chorus,  and  follows  older  Senecan  tradition. 
The  figure  of  Richard  Plantagenet,  as  does  that  of  Warwick, 
connects  the  First  Part  intimately  with  Part  III,  as  the  two 
pairs  of  characters,  Gloucester  and  Winchester,  Suffolk  and 
Margaret,  connect  it  closely  with  Part  II.  Something  like 
Hamlet,  Plantagenet  affirms  near  the  close  of  this  scene: 

Well,  I  will  lock  his  counsel  in  my  breast ; 

And  what  I  do  imagine  let  that  rest.  (II,  v,  11S-119.) 

It  is  a  fitting  inheritance;  for  it  is  Plantagenet's  son  who 
is  the  terrible  Gloucester  of  Part  III  and  the  monstrous 
Richard   III. 

In  the  Parliament  scene  both  sets  of  quarrels  are  dramat- 
ically brought  together.  A  seeming  reconciliation  is  patched 
up  between  Gloucester  and  Winchester;  and  the  ideal  villainy 
of  Shakespeare  is  represented,  that  of  dissimulation: 

Glou.    So  help  me  God,  as  I  dissemble  not ! 

Win.  [aside].    So  help  me  God,  as  I  intend  it  not!     (Ill,  i,  140,  141.) 

It  is  the  method  of  Aaron  the  Moor  and  Tamora  in  Titus 
Andronicus,  of  Richard  III,  of  Don  John  in  Much  Ado,  of 
Iago,  and  of  the  latter's  diminutive  in  devilishness,  Iachimo. 
In  the  general  aversion  shown  towards  Cardinal  Winchester, 
a  feeling  that  reaches  its  height  in  the  death  scene  in  Part  II, 
we  are  reminded  of  the  disinclination  portrayed  towards  a 
greater  Cardinal  in  Henry  VIII. '     One  quarrel  thus  seemingly 

'Were  Shakespeare  not  the  most  objective  and  least  personal  of  all 
writers,  we  could  imagine  we  might  almost  trace  the  Reformer  in  this  por- 
trayal, strengthened  as  it  is  by  the  religious  individualism  left  standing  in 
Talbot's  religious  exclamations  cited  above  (p.  96).  But  as  much  or  more 
could  be  brought  on  the  other  side,  and  it  is  always  safest  in  principle  to 
consider  the  dramatic  effectiveness  of  scenes,  and  not  fancy  any  possible 
personal  or  symbolical  interpretation. 


108  EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  /  HENRY  VI 

sealed,  by  a  clever  dramatic  touch  the  other,  smouldering, 
breaks  out  at  the  same  moment.  It  is  determined  by  the  King 
and  an  apparently  united  council  on  Plantagenet's  behalf: 

That  Richard  be  restored  to  his  blood.  .  . . 

And  rise  created  princely  Duke  of  York.       (HI,  i,  159,  173.) 

All  shout  in  seeming  unison,  but  precisely  like  the  Cardinal 
before,  Somerset,  remembering  the  Temple  Garden  scene, 
mutters  a  dissent: 

All.     Welcome, high  prince,  the  mighty  Duke  of  York ! 
Som.  [aside].     Perish,  base  prince,  ignoble  Duke  of  York! 

(Ill.i,  177,  178) 

The  evident  use  of  stichomythia,  together  with  word  and 
sound  repetition  in  both  instances,  heightens  the  intended 
antithesis.  But,  as  in  others  of  Shakespeare's  early  plays,  it 
is  an  effect  of  opera  rather  than  of  pure  drama. 

The  young  King  is  not  introduced  until  the  Parliament  scene 
in  Act  III,  although  his  name  is  given  to  the  play  in  its 
present  form.  And  justly  so,  as  in  the  title  role  of  the  Mer- 
chant of  Venice  and  of  Julius  Ccesar,  All  the  dissensions 
among  the  nobles,  those  of  Gloucester  and  Winchester,  and 
of  Plantagenet  and  Somerset,  cluster  about  Henry.  The  Talbot 
portion  has  become  subordinated  to  him,  as  it  becomes 
associated  with  him  and  his  history.  The  spirit  of  the  King's 
weakness,  of  his  scrupulous  religiousness,  of  his  oratorical, 
poetic,  and  philosophic  gifts,  emphasized  in  Parts  II  and  III, 
are  all  intimated  in  Part  I.  As  the  struggles  of  the  Parliament 
scene  rage  about  him,  his  first  speech,  chiding  Gloucester 
and  Winchester,  reveals  his  delicate  and  susceptible  nature, 
finding  expression  in  moralizings  and  dissertations : 

O,  what  a  scandal  is  it  to  our  crown, 

That  two  such  noble  peers  as  ye  should  jar!     (Ill,  i,  69,  70.) 

And  again: 

O,  how  this  discord  doth  afflict  my  soul !  (Ill,  i,  106.) 

But  he  is  both  too  young  and  too  weak  to  effect  a  conclu- 
sion.    One  act  later  (IV,  i),  when  the  Plantagenet  and  Somer- 


EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  /  HENRY  VI  109 

set  quarrel  is  repeated  in  miniature  by  their  followers,  Vernon 
and  Basset,  the  King,  fearful  for  all  differences  of  opinion,  again 
strives  for  quiet,  but  as  a  poet : 

Let  me  be  umpire  in  this  doubtful  strife. 

I  see  no  reason,  if  I  wear  this  rose  [Putting  on  a  red  rose]. 

That  any  one  should  therefore  be  suspicious, 

I  more  incline  to  Somerset  than  York : 

Both  are  my  kinsmen,  and  I  love  them  both.  (IV,  i,  151-155.) 

This  is  the  fatal  action  that  determines  York's  hostility  to  the 

King  —  an  opposition  that  ends  only  with  the  death  of  Richard 

on  Bosworth   Field.      Small   wonder  there  is  the  comment  of 

Warwick : 

My  Lord  of  York,  I  promise  you,  the  king 
Prettily,  methought,  did  play  the  orator. 

To  which  York  replies : 

And  so  he  did ;  but  yet  I  like  it  not, 

In  that  he  wears  the  badge  of  Somerset 
War.     Tush,  that  was  but  his  fancy,  blame  him  not; 

I  dare  presume,  sweet  prince,  he  thought  no  harm. 
York.     An  if  I  wist  he  did,— but  let  it  re»t;  .  .  .  (IV,  i,  174-180.) 

It  is  the  same  "sweet  prince,"  who  "thought  no  harm,"  that  in 
Part  III,  in  another  'fancy'  could  sit  on  a  hillside,  and  wish 
himself,  not  with  poor  brain-troubled  Lear,  "every  inch  a  king," 
but  a  silly  swain: 

Ah,  what  a  life  were  this  I  how  sweet!  how  lovely!      (II,  v,  41.) 

Do  we  ask  about  the  authorship  of  the  play  ?  We  cannot.be 
too  sure.  There  are  too  many  difficulties  on  all  sides  to  be  too 
dogmatic  in  any  conclusion.  It  seems  folly  to  suppose  with  Mr. 
Fleay '  that  individual  lines  and  scenes  can  with  any  degree  of 
certainty  be  awarded  to  A  and  B  and  C  and  D  and  E.  Mr. 
Richard  Grant  White,*  like  others,  became  absorbed  in  the 
many  delicate  questions  involved  in  Parts  II  and  III  and  found 
little  space  to  devote  to  Part  I,  but  adhered  in  a  general  way  to  A, 

»F.  G.  Fleay:  "A  Chronicle  History  of  the  Life  and  Work  of  William 
Shakespeare,"  1S86. 

*  R.  G.  White:  Essay  on  the  authorship  of  the  three  parts  of  King  Henry 
the  Sixth;  Vol.  VII  of  "Works  of  William  Shakespeare,"  1859. 


110  EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  I  HENRY  VI 

B,  C,  and  D.  Mr.  Swinburne's1  eloquent  denunciation  is  the 
feeling  of  a  poet,  but  is  clearly  susceptible  of  limitations.  As 
Professor  Sarrazin'  has  pointed  out,  the  Talbot  figure  in  the  play 
seems  to  have  derived  an  impulse  from  Marlowe's  Tamburlaine, 
and  the  tenderness  of  father  and  son  recalls  episodes  in  the 
Spanish  Tragedy  of  Kyd.  Also  there  is  a  wooing  of  another 
Margaret  by  proxy  in  Greene's  Friar  Bacon  and  Friar  Bungay ; 
and  the  sentiment  of  the  couplet, — 

She's  beautiful  and  therefore  to  be  woo'd ; 

She  is  a  woman,  therefore  to  be  won  —        (V,  iii,  77,  78.) 

again  repeated  in  both  Titus  Andronicus  and  Richard  III,  has 
been  traced  to  Greene's  Planetomachia.  But  we  are  not  bound 
to  conclude  joint  authorship  of  all  these  and  others,  but  only  in- 
fluence, as  Prof.  Sarrazin  wisely  suggests.  But  he,  it  seems, 
returning  to  the  view  of  Charles  Knight,3  wishes  to  accept  every 
word,  every  line  and  every  circumstance,  as  traceable  to  Shake- 
speare. This,  in  turn,  may  go  too  far;  for  certain  parts  of  the 
French  and  Joan  scenes  at  least  may  have  been  left  virtually 
unchanged,  if  we  accept  the  intervention  of  an  older  Talbot  play. 
Mr.  Dowden4  believes  it  "is  almost  certainly  an  old  play,  by  one 
or  more  authors,  which  ....  had  received  touches  from  the 
hand  of  Shakespeare,"  but  enters  upon  no  details.  Other 
recent  commentators  follow  in  the  paths  of  the  older  ones,  get 

1  A.  C.  Swinburne  :  "A  Study  of  Shakespeare,"  3d  edition,  1895. 

'  G.  Sarrazin:  "William  Shakespeare's  Lehrjahre,"  1897. 

•Charles  Knight:  "Pictorial  Edition  of  Shakespeare,  Supplement  to 
Histories,"  Vol.  II. 

*  Edward  Dowden:  "Shakspere  Primer,"  1877,  P-  62.  In  the  "Intro- 
troduction  to  Shakspere,  1895,"  Mr.  Dowden  expresses  the  same  opinion : 
"  The  authorship  of  the  first  part  of  Henry  VI  is  not  ascertained ;  it  probably 
received  additions  from  Shakspere's  hand ;  ...  it  is  essentially  pre-Shak- 
sperean." 

Mr.  Sidney  Lee,  in  his  "  Life  of  William  Shakespeare,"  1898,  p.  59,  helps  us 
but  little  further:  "In  'The  First  Part  of  Henry  VI,'  the  scene  in  the 
Temple  Gardens,  where  white  and  red  roses  are  plucked  as  emblems  by  the 
rival  political  parties  (Act  II,  sc.  iv),  the  dying  speech  of  Mortimer,  and 
perhaps  the  wooing  of  Margaret  by  Suffolk,  alone  bear  the  impress  of  his 
style."  This  is  in  substantial  agreement  with  what  Mr.  Dowden  had  already 
said  in  his  "Primer."  It  is  unfortunate  that  neither  Mr.  Dowden's  nor  Mr. 
Lee's  plan  permitted  the  critic  to  enter  upon  a  detailed  discussion  of  the  play. 


EPISODES  IN  SHAKESPEARE'S  /  HENRY  VI  111 

around  the  obstructions  they  see  ahead  as  best  they  can,  and  by 
ignoring  the  difficulties,  have  little  or  nothing  to  say. 

My  own  endeavor  has  been  to  see  what  can  be  found,  by 
an  analysis,  in  the  play  itself.  If  the  apparent  results,  gained 
by  a  study  of  the  structure,  can  be  accepted;  if  there  be  an 
original  Talbot  portion,  based  either  on  an  older  play  or 
directly  upon  the  chronicles,  adapted  and  strengthened  by 
dramatic  emphasis  upon  Talbot's  character  and  Talbot's  death, 
and  expanded  into  a  Henry  VI  drama,  and  thus  given  a  place 
in  a  larger  tetralogy;  —  the  person  ordering  this  material  and 
effecting  these  changes,  in  other  words,  the  real  creator  of  the 
play  as  it  stands,  could  well  be  Shakespeare  near  the  beginning 
of  his  art.  At  least  one  principle  is  clear.  By  a  study  of  the 
earliest  plays  attributed  to  Shakespeare,  for  themselves  and 
in  their  historic  and  comparative  relations,  there  will  be  found 
to  be  more  and  more  points  in  common  with  the  Shakespeare 
of  the  later  plays;  —  not  yet  in  the  fulness  of  his  power,  but  at 
any  rate  with  suggestions  of  the  method,  structure,  habit  of 
thought,  characterization,  and  art  of  the  master  to  be. 


V. 

James  Lane  Allen:   A  Study 


From  Baskervill's  "  Southern  Writers :  Biographical  and  Critical  Studies," 

Volume  II.     Nashville:  Publishing  House  of  the  M.  E.  Church, 

South.     Smith  &  Lamar,  Agents.     1903. 


JAMES  LANE  ALLEN:  A  STUDY 
I. 

MR.  James  Lane  Allen  is  an  interesting  case  of  evolution 
in  literature.  He  himself,  who  has  become  in  his  latest 
story,  "The  Reign  of  Law,"  an  acknowledged  student  of  the  influ- 
ence of  the  doctrine  of  evolution  upon  the  thought  of  the  age, 
represents  in  the  changes  and  development  of  his  work  these  same 
principles.  He  derives  from  Southern  literature,  and  began  as  a 
portrayer  of  simple  Kentucky  landscape  and  local  life;  he  has 
attained  to  the  point  of  view  of  world  literature  in  the  signifi- 
cance of  his  themes.  He  has  dealt  only  with  the  native 
Kentucky  soil,  a  soil  and  race  from  which  he  sprang  and  which 
he  knows  well ;  but  his  treatment  and  his  art  instinct  have 
carried  him  from  the  particular  to  the  universal.  Thus  it  comes 
that  no  two  of  his  volumes  are  alike  or  represent  the  same  ideas 
and  grade  of  development.  Each  has  been  an  added  experiment 
in  a  new  field,  a  new  effort  in  a  different  sphere  of  thought,  a 
new  success  with  fresh  material.  In  this  variety  and  growth 
and  in  his  close  touch  with  the  literary  and  intellectual  move- 
ments and  achievements  of  his  day,  Mr  Allen's  position  among 
Southern  writers,  so  called  by  accident  of  birth  and  environment, 
is  unique. 

No  doubt  the  qualities  derived  from  his  birth  and  environment 
determined  his  career.  In  the  heart  of  the  rich  limestone  soil 
and  beautiful  blue  grass  region  of  Kentucky  lay  the  scenes  of 
his  early  life.  There  came  the  blight  of  war,  which  befell  his 
youth  somewhat  like  the  description  of  Gabriella's  volume  of 
life  in  "The  Reign  of  Law" —  the  struggle  with  poverty,  and  then 
the  still  bitterer  heart  struggles  for  a  literary  career.  There  lie 
the  scenes  of  all  his  tales  and  stories.  It  is,  therefore,  what  he 
has  lived  and  was  bred  in  and  what  he  knows  that  he  has  written 
about;  and  in  describing  the  phases  of  his  life  there  is  no 
faltering  and  no  uncertainty.  It  is  a  country  worthy  of  the 
noble  expression  it  has  found  in  Mr.  Allen's  writings,  and  the 


116  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN:    A   STUDY 

final  biography  and  criticism  of  Mr.  Allen  and  his  works  will 
possibly  come  some  day  from  one  born  and  nurtured  in  the  same 
meadows  and  fields,  along  the  same  white  turnpikes  and  lanes 
and  stones  and  hedgerows.  For  the  present,  perhaps,  one 
nearer  home  may  fail  to  get  the  proper  perspective ;  and  so  one 
not  a  Kentuckian  may  be  permitted  to  express  an  opinion. 

Some  four  or  five  divisions  of  Mr.  Allen's  work  in  fiction  — 
omitting  his  earliest  contributions  and  letters  to  various  papers 
and  an  occasional  poem  or  criticism  —  may  be  distinguished. 
First  is  that  of  the  "Flute  and  Violin"  volume  and  his  sketches 
and  descriptive  pieces  of  Kentucky  and  Kentucky  life.  A  second 
series  begins  with  "A  Kentucky  Cardinal"  and  its  conclusion, 
"Aftermath,"  revealing  his  intimacy  with  the  most  secret  moods 
of  nature.  This  was  followed  by ' '  Summer  in  Arcady, "  in  which 
the  workings  of  nature  profoundly  affect  the  destinies  of  life.  A 
fourth  may  be  made  of  the  remodeling  of  "John  Gray"  into  "The 
Choir  Invisible,"  where  the  historical  background,  in  part  an- 
ticipatory of  a  current  fashion,  was  freely  used  for  the  human 
problem  also  brought  out.  And  latest  of  all,  so  far  as  his 
writings  have  been  published,  and  catching  something  of  the 
freer  use  of  the  moods  and  modes  of  nature  revealed  in  "Summer 
in  Arcady,"  is  the  aggressively  insistent  "Reign  of  Law."  Yet 
what  is  this  but  saying  that  each  of  Mr.  Allen's  volumes  is  to  be 
treated  by  itself  ?  A  strong  and  sincere  love  for  man  and  nature— 
"human  life  in  relation  to  nature, "  as  he  himself  has  phrased  it  in 
a  review  of  another's  writings  —  is  his  most  characteristic  mark. 
A  sympathetic  portraiture  of  one  and  a  lover's  description  of 
the  other  we  always  expect,  but  we  may  not  know  what  is  to  be 
the  especial  phase  of  study  and  type  development. 

Here,  most  of  all,  it  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Allen's  peculiar  strength 
lies.  He  has  a  romantic  background  to  deal  with,  one  that  is 
historic  as  well  as  romantic,  which  he  always  observes  with  the 
clear  eye  and  feels  with  the  true  heart ;  but  he  is  also  profoundly 
and  intimately  interested  in  human  life  —  the  life  about  him, 
life  under  many  complex  conditions,  life  as  wrought  through  the 
workings  of  elemental  nature  within  us  and  controlled  by  the 
spiritual  beyond  us.     It  is  a  natural  and  rapid  step  from  history 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY  117 

to  the  problems  of  contemporary  life;  therefore  romantic  and 
naturalistic  tendencies  alike  combine  in  him.  He  sees  nature 
with  the  eye  of  the  poet  and  the  love  of  the  artist,  yet  scrutinizes 
her  appearances  and  examines  her  laws  with  the  apprehension 
and  insight  of  the  student  of  science.  Indeed,  this  growth  of 
the  scientific  interest  within  him  best  accounts  for  obvious 
qualities  in  works  of  quite  different  spirit,  as  "A  Kentucky 
Cardinal"  and  "Summer  in  Arcady"  or  "The  Reign  of  Law,"  re- 
garded by  many  as  contradictory.  To  the  poet  part  of  his  nature, 
the  delicacy  and  pathos  of  a  situation  appeal  keenly.  To  the  mind 
familiar  with  scientific  modes  of  thought  comes  the  conscious- 
ness of  those  changes  in  conceptions  of  philosophy,  theology, 
and  cosmology  going  on  about  it,  into  relation  with  which  the 
particular  conditions  must  be  brought.  Every  man  truly  living 
and  thinking  at  the  close  of  the  nineteenth  century  has  been 
conscious  of  these  changes,  has  felt  the  throbbings  of  nature, 
has  questioned  the  mystery  of  life,  has  experienced  the  power 
of  an  intellectual  and  spiritual  stimulus.  These  themes  run 
through  every  one  of  Mr.  Allen's  writings.  Each  is  the  evo- 
lution or  development  of  a  thesis  or  idea. 

Even  in  the ' '  Flute  and  Violin' '  stories  there  is  an  awakening  to 
broader  and  higher  conceptions  and  ideals.  In  "Flute  and 
Violin"  itself  it  takes  the  form  of  a  more  unselfish  thought 
of  duty.  In  the  "Two  Gentlemen  of  Kentucky"  and  "King 
Solomon"  it  is  broader  charity  and  deeper  human  sympathies. 
In  "The  White  Cowl"  and  "Sister  Dolorosa"  there  is  the 
contradiction  between  the  free,  natural  life  of  Kentucky  and 
the  cramping  of  the  cloistered  abbey  and  convent  having  lodg- 
ment in  its  soil,  until  there  comes,  through  the  seed  of  love 
sown,  the  arousing  from  a  restricted  and  artificial  life  and  world 
to  one  more  extended  and  more  natural.  In  "A  Kentucky  Cardi- 
nal" and  its  sequel  the  changes  wrought  on  both  heart  and  mind 
belong  to  love  and  nature  together.  In  "Summer  in  Arcady"  the 
forces  of  nature  are  struggling  with  the  human  and  spiritual  ele- 
ments, and  both  poet  and  scientist  are  there  noting  cause  and 
effect,  yet  amid  the  warring  of  passions  guiding  to  beneficent 
issues.     No  wonder  there  came  a  cry  from  the  sentimentalists. 


118  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A   STUDY 

Emotions  were  all ;  they  could  not  think;  they  did  not  understand 
how  things  as  sacred  and  holy  as  love  and  marriage  should  have 
their  underlying  conditions  subjected  to  analysis,  and  by  one  who 
at  the  same  time  was  supremely  conscious  of  spiritual  beauty  in 
nature  and  life.  "The  Choir  Invisible,"  based  on  a  former  story 
by  the  same  author,  is  somewhat  of  a  return  to  an  earlier  method ; 
but  while  its  setting  is  drawn  from  pioneer  conditions  in  Kentucky 
history,  its  interest  centres  in  the  development  of  human  character 
and  destiny.  It  was  a  temporary  aberration  to  the  historical  and 
romantic  type  of  story  then  winning  in  popular  favor,  yet  it  was 
ever  psychological  in  spirit  and  descriptive  of  nature's  appeals. 
It  was  of  the  play  of  spiritual  forces  in  that  early  Western  land 
that  saved  and  gained  a  nation ;  but  it  did  not  go  to  the  extrav- 
agant lengths  of  Mr.  Churchill  and  Miss  Johnston,  and,  as  if 
dreading  the  infection,  Mr.  Allen  returned  at  once  to  other 
paths.  We  can  now  see  that  the  study  and  analysis  steadily 
obtruding  in  "Aftermath"  and  in  "Summer  in  Arcady"  merely 
foretold  the  tendencies  leading  to  far  deeper  issues  in  thought 
and  life  as  undertaken  in  "The  Reign  of  Law." 

These  are  movements  of  which  we  are  forced  to  take  heed. 
Many  readers  prefer  Mr.  Allen's  earlier  vein,  just  as  many 
prefer  Thackeray's  "Henry  Esmond"  to  his  "Vanity  Fair" 
and  "Pendennis,"  and  some  the  marvelous  adventures  of 
"Richard  Carvel"  and  "To  Have  and  to  Hold"  to  studies  of 
character  and  destiny.  There  is  no  quarrel  here,  for  there  is 
room  and  to  spare  for  both ;  but  the  novel  is  bound  to  become 
more  and  not  less  subtle  and  delicate  in  its  portrayal  of  motive 
and  character.  And  it  is  this  direction  of  manifest  destiny  that 
Mr.  Allen  has  taken.  Not  only  so,  but  he  is  a  careful  artist  in 
style,  and  his  speech,  though  prose,  is  often  the  utterance  of  a 
poet.  His  chief  defect  is  that  of  his  qualities:  he  takes  his  art 
consciously  and  seriously,  and  so  is  sometimes  even  too  earnest 
in  it.  And  yet,  in  a  day  when  the  lack  of  seriousness  in  the 
domain  of  literature  is  as  overwhelming  as  it  is,  this  constitutes 
high  praise.  It  is  not  of  so  much  moment  whether  Mr.  Allen  be- 
lieves this  or  that,  or  is  or  is  not  right  in  all  his  conclusions  —  if, 
indeed,  he  dogmatizes  at  all,  though  there  seem  to  be  traces  of 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY  119 

this  in  his  latest  work.  Mr.  Allen  is  the  consciously  working 
artist,  and  the  great  fundamental  facts  of  human  nature  attract 
him  in  his  study  of  life  and  its  conditions,  and  of  the  profound 
changes  in  attitude  and  thought.  The  awakening  of  the  soul  to 
life,  sometimes  to  its  own  hurt,  and  to  eternal  heartache,  but 
always  to  fuller  liberty,  is  his  constant  interest. 

Would  he  be  so  true  if  he  ended  his  stories  just  as  we  would 
have  them  —  ideally  ?  Though  some  may  object  from  quite 
another  point  of  view  that  with  given  conditions  he  ends  often 
too  ideally.  Certainly  he  prefers  a  spiritual  outcome  to  every 
struggle.  Apparently  a  realist  by  conviction,  he  is  an  idealist 
by  nature.  The  one  lesson  of  both  nature  and  life  is  that  they 
are  inexorable.  Many  dear  to  us  we  may  love,  and  they  may 
disappoint  our  love;  and  the  poetical  nature,  catching  a  part  of 
divine  love,  treats  with  greater  charity  the  failures  and  misunder- 
standings of  mankind,  and  sees  in  them  all  only  the  noble 
promise.  The  great-hearted  Shakespeare  sympathizes  with 
Falstaff's  death ;  his  villains  are  always  dealt  with  gently  at  the 
close;  he  is  great  enough  to  understand  and  feel  pity. 

Some  of  Mr.  Allen's  problems  may  be  greater  than  he  can 
answer  —  perhaps  than  anyone  can  answer.  But  at  least  the 
sincerity  of  facing  them,  the  attempt  to  give  them  an  artistic 
background,  is  worth  a  good  deal.  The  artist  cannot  be  dic- 
tated to  even  by  himself.  He  cannot  always  please  his  own 
ideals,  let  alone  those  of  others.  He  must  deal  with  images 
and  convictions  that  haunt  the  brain,  and  deliver  them  and 
take  his  chance  as  to  their  being  true.  And  the  note  of  utter 
sincerity  in  his  art,  I  think,  can  be  claimed  as  a  special  dis- 
tinction of  Mr.  Allen's  work.  His  tendencies  have  thus 
followed  logical  directions,  and  both  his  personal  and  his 
historical  position  in  American  letters  is  already  an  interesting 
one.  What  the  ultimate  judgment  may  be  must  be  left  to 
fuller  accomplishment  —  and  to  time. 

We  can  well  believe  Mr.  Allen  reads,  thinks,  studies,  ob- 
serves, imagines.  He  has  evidently  studied  Darwin,  Huxley, 
Tyndall,  and  the  thinkers  of  an  inexorably  scientific  age.  He 
has  read,  too,  Balzac  and  the  moderns  in  fiction.     His  shrinking, 


120  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY 

even  in  his  earliest  sketches,  from  the  extreme  romantic,  an 
obvious  tendency  in  most  Southern  writers,  shows  the  in- 
fluence of  other  authors  and  of  other  forces  than  mere  sugges- 
tions from  Kentucky  surroundings.  His  has  been  an  inevitable 
development.  The  problems  of  the  universe  have  allured  him, 
and  he  sees  them  reflected  in  the  landscape  and  history  of  his 
own  state  and  in  the  contemporary  life  about  him. 

Thus  he  transcends  other  Southern  writers  in  the  planning  of 
his  work.  No  longer  does  he  belong  to  a  locality,  even  though 
all  his  scenes  may  be  laid  there;  he  becomes  cosmopolitan  in 
his  appeal.  And  so  he  is  read  in  England  as  in  America,  in 
the  East  as  in  the  South  —  indeed,  more  so.  He  is  a  product  of 
the  soil,  but  his  branches  tower  into  the  air  and  welcome  all  the 
winds  of  the  heavens,  the  rain,  and  the  sunshine.  Mr.  Page  is 
Virginian;  Mr.  Harris  is  Southern;  Mr.  Allen,  whether  he 
attains  it  or  not,  is  striving  toward  the  universal. 

Mr.  Allen  has  been  compared  to  Mr.  Thomas  Hardy,  whom 
in  nature  and  art  he  is  not  wholly  unlike.  Kentucky  is  his 
Wessex.  Some  of  his  problems  are  likewise  tremendous, 
although  they  are  not  yet,  and  are  not  apt  to  be,  of  the  severity 
and  temper  of  the  themes  of  his  English  compeer.  "Tess  of  the 
D'Urbervilles"  appeared  a  year  or  two  before  "Summer  in  Arca- 
dy."  Mr.  Allen's  is  also  a  case  of  development  not  unlike  Mr. 
Hardy's  —  from  the  idyllic  to  the  tragic.  "The  Reign  of  Law" 
has  its  points  of  contact  with  "The  Return  of  the  Native." 

Yet  in  the  midst  of  the  tragic  Mr.  Allen  cannot  shut  out  the 
idyllic  and  the  ideal.  His  conclusions  and  his  endings  are 
chastened  and  softened  by  this  spirit.  They  represent  his 
phase  of  mind,  and  so,  happily,  must  remain.  He  has  not 
always  fought  out  the  matter  to  the  utmost  with  himself.  "The 
Reign  of  Law"  is  a  tragedy  —  in  the  hands  of  a  realist  must 
remain  a  tragedy.  Mr.  Allen  might  have  been  logically  and 
artistically  justified  in  shattering  the  life  of  David  rather  than 
in  conserving  it.  But  there  stepped  in  the  saving  faith  of  the 
evolutionist,  the  evangel  of  a  new  creed.  The  man  who  is  thus 
honest  and  so  believes  must  be  saved.  Spiritually,  yes  —  with 
Goethe  and  Browning.     But  actually,  in  this  world's  ways  and 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY  121 

conventions,  more  probably,  no.  A  second  structure  is  super- 
added to  the  first.  The  future  of  David  must  be  assured,  and 
the  story  must  end. 

The  steady  enlargement  of  the  sphere  of  Mr.  Allen's  art  and 
change  in  attitude  is  to  be  welcomed.  Even  those  who  prefer 
his  earlier  vein  do  so  mainly  because  it  was  sweet  and  tender. 
But  sweetness  and  tenderness  may  prove  to  lack  qualities  of 
strength ;  they  alone  cannot  be  great.  In  his  development  has 
lain  his  only  chance  of  continued  distinction,  preserving,  as  he 
does,  the  saving  and  helping  qualities  of  sweetness  and  tender- 
ness. I  believe,  then,  that  Mr.  Allen  is  a  deliberate  worker. 
At  the  time  he  has  naturally  not  always  been  fully  aware  of  the 
instincts  struggling  within  him,  but  he  has  carefully  proved 
himself  at  every  step.  He  is  no  doubt  conscious  of  the  changes 
that  have  asserted  themselves  in  his  work;  he  has  been  true  to 
them,  to  himself,  and  to  his  art,  it  seems  to  me;  and  right  or 
wrong,  we  may  feel  that  any  other  process  was  impossible  and 
would  have  meant  decline  and  the  destruction  of  silence. 

The  mere  tale  of  adventure  we  may  not  look  for — for  him  that 
would  be  to  retrace  steps  and  march  backward.  But  a  tale  with 
an  historic  background,  possessing  all  the  elements  of  heredity 
and  influences  of  surrounding  environment,  we  can  expect  —  a 
bold  and  strong  conception  and  combination  of  the  romantic 
spirit  with  the  natural  and  real.  There  may  be,  too,  other 
studies  of  the  day  —  ideals  of  tragedy  commingled  through  the 
poet's  nature  with  the  great  pity  of  one  who  knows  sorrow  and 
can  see  beauty.  Of  this  we  may  guess.  But  Mr.  Allen  has 
surprised  the  writer  of  these  lines  more  than  once.  No  one 
is  in  his  confidence,  and  we  may  await  with  interest  further 
work,  assured  only  that  in  the  high  seriousness  of  his  con- 
ceptions he  will  never  be  false  to  himself  or  his  art,  and  that 
the  distinction  of  his  literary  style  alone  will  rescue  him  from 
the  commonplace  and  entitle  him  to  a  hearing. 

II. 

The  James  Lane  Allen  of  our  sketch  —  for  that  there  is  another 
of  the  same  name,  "Who's  Who"  informs   us,   who  lives  in 


122  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN:    A    STUDY 

Chicago,  who  also  writes  books,  and  to  whom  full  apologies  are 
made  by  our  author  in  the  Preface  to  "Flute  and  Violin"  for  all 
unintentional  confusion  —  was  born  in  1849  in  the  heart  of  the 
beautiful  blue  grass  region  of  Kentucky,  of  which  Lexington  is 
the  captial  city.  The  spirit  of  this  country  has  entered  into  and 
pervades  all  his  writings.  His  descent  is  that  characteristic  of 
the  best  in  Kentucky — the  two  streams  of  English  from  Virginia 
and  Scotch-Irish  from  Pennsylvania.  He  was  born  at  a  time  for 
the  Civil  War  to  make  a  deep  impression  upon  him,  and  par- 
ticularly for  the  change  in  social  and  economic  conditions  to 
affect  him  both  materially  and  spiritually.  Of  the  age  of  sixteen 
at  its  close,  a  new  social  life  had  to  be  faced  under  quite  different 
aspects  from  what  he  might  have  anticipated.  Of  the  physical 
and  spiritual  strugglings  that  must  have  been  endured  at  that 
period,  we  have  no  record  —  from  him,  most  of  all,  not  a  word. 
And  yet  the  imagination  can  picture  some  of  it.  The  volume  of 
Gabriella's  life,  inserted  as  a  retrospect  in  the  second  part  of 
"The  Reign  of  Law,"  though  not  needed  for  the  story,  is  a 
glowing  piece  of  portraiture,  calling  up  with  changes  of  sex  and 
circumstances  what  he  himself  doubtless  had  passed  through 
and  numbers  of  gentle  folk  must  have  suffered. 

Fortunately,  of  whatever  else  economic  and  social  changes 
might  rob  him,  they  could  not  take  from  the  growing  youth  the 
wonderful  gifts  Nature  had  strewn  profusely  about  him.  In  ab- 
sence of  other  teachers,  his  mother  could  always  point  out  lessons 
from  outdoor  life,  and  perhaps  in  proportion  to  the  meagreness 
of  other  schooling  the  lessons  from  Nature's  teachings  appealed 
more  and  more  subtly  to  the  boy's  heart,  how  deeply  he  himself 
could  not  be  conscious  of  at  the  moment.  The  effects  were  to 
come  later  and  later  in  life,  as  he  matured  and  gained  the  power  of 
giving  expression  to  these  phenomena,  understanding  them  with 
the  poet's  heart  and  explaining  them  with  the  student's  mind. 

We  may  believe,  too,  the  early  love  of  reading  books  —  old 
romances,  poetry,  history — was  soon  implanted.  Once  more,  in 
the  want  of  schoolmasters,  his  mother  was  his  best  teacher  in 
directing  him  to  books  and  showing  him  how  to  love  them.  She 
could  also  tell  him  many  of  the  old  stories  of  what,  under  changed 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A   STUDY  128 

conditions,  now  seemed  long,  long  ago.  Of  such  is  said  to  be 
the  germ  of  "King  Solomon  of  Kentucky,"  a  reminiscence 
handed  down  from  the  cholera  ravages  in  Kentucky  and  the 
Mississippi  Valley  in  the  early  thirties.  Nature  and  books! 
His  own  mother  and  other  mother,  Blue  Grass  Kentucky! 
What  better  sources  of  nurture,  if  rightly  used,  spiritual,  edu- 
cational, and  literary,  could  a  young  boy  have?  The  very  re- 
verses which  threw  these  stout  hearts  back  upon  themselves 
made  every  experience  all  the  deeper.  It  was  not  until  the  ap- 
pearance of  "A  Kentucky  Cardinal"  that  there  was  revealed 
the  rich  inner  spiritual  life  of  an  extremely  sensitive  nature. 

One  year  after  the  close  of  the  War,  with  the  reopening  of 
the  old  Transylvania  University  of  Kentucky  under  favorable 
auspices,  James  Lane  Allen  entered  college  as  a  student  in  the 
academic  department.  It  was  contemporary  with  David's  en- 
trance into  the  theological  department  of  the  University,  the 
Bible  College,  as  told  in  "The  Reign  of  Law."  The  location  of 
the  University  was  in  Lexington,  the  leading  town  of  Central 
Kentucky,  a  few  miles  from  the  Aliens'  country  home.  Under 
whatever  hardships,  the  best  Southern  traditions  were  then  and 
still  are  to  make  the  son  of  the  family  at  least  an  educated  man 
and  gentleman.  At  that  time,  and  still  an  excellent  article  of 
faith  in  all  Church  or  denominational  colleges,  the  classics  of 
Latin  and  Greek  formed  the  chief  diet  for  study.  What 
knowledge  of  English  was  obtained  was  chiefly  through  the 
medium  of  the  translation  and  syntax  of  the  ancient  classics. 
The  reading  of  good  literature  was  rather  a  tradition  than  an 
exaction,  generally  followed  and  left  to  the  leisure  hours  and 
inclinations  of  the  student  himself.  In  the  hands  of  a  capable 
teacher,  every  bright  student  has  the  ambition  to  become 
equally  as  good  a  scholar  as  his  teacher  and  himself  teach  that 
subject.  And  the  study  of  the  Latin  and  Greek  authors  as  pre- 
paratory to  the  study  of  English  or  a  love  of  literature  has  been 
the  basis  built  upon  by  many  of  our  best  workers.  The  young 
student  furthermore  soon  pushed  his  way  into  an  acquaintance 
at  least  with  the  modern  languages  and  got  some  glimpses  of  the 
significance  of  their  literatures. 


124  JAMES    LANE  ALLEN:    A    STUDY 

Having  completed  the  college  course  and  further  pursued  his 
studies  so  far  into  wider  fields  as  to  obtain  the  degree  of  Master 
of  Arts  —  doubtless  at  great  pains  and  cost  of  both  self  and 
home  —  there  was  nothing  for  the  Southern  young  man  without 
means  and  under  some  obligations  to  do  but  teach  and  help  pay 
expenses.  Mr.  Allen  first  taught  a  country  school  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Lexington,  like  John  Gray  in  "The  Choir  In- 
visible," yet  with  what  a  difference!  Twelve  miles  a  day  he 
walked,  six  there  and  six  back  to  his  mother's  home.  Then 
there  was  a  school  in  Missouri,  later  another  in  a  neighboring 
Kentucky  county,  next  came  recognition  from  his  Alma  Mater 
in  a  tutorship,  and  at  length  advancement  to  the  chair  of  Latin 
and  Greek  in  Bethany  College,  West  Virginia,  the  leading  in- 
stitution of  learning  of  the  "Christian  Church,"  founded  by  the 
apostle  of  the  order,  the  Rev.  Alexander  Campbell.  In  these 
years  he  doubtless  had  the  opportunity  of  a  wider  survey  of 
language  and  literature  study,  of  the  moderns  as  well  as  the 
ancients,  and  began  to  test  and  put  into  practice  many  theories  of 
composition.  Particularly  his  study,  readings,  and  practice  in 
the  field  of  English  literature  and  composition  must  have  become 
developed.  Much  of  the  care  and  thought  and  happy  appre- 
ciation and  nice  distinctions  of  his  written  style  reveal  such 
knowledge  and  training. 

With  his  work  seemingly  mapped  out  before  him,  his  earliest 
ambitions  were  in  exact  and  ripe  scholarship.  He  had  planned 
a  trip  abroad  for  a  stay  at  the  German  universities ;  and  after 
the  Johns  Hopkins  University  was  opened  as  the  first  dis- 
tinctively for  advanced  graduate  work  in  America,  he  was  in 
correspondence  with  its  officials,  and  there  seemed  all  pro- 
bability that  the  doctor's  hood  was  destined  for  him.  But  the 
call  of  literature  upon  him  became  more  and  more  urgent,  and 
the  restrictions  of  its  exercise  when  hampered  by  the  daily 
routine  work  of  the  class  room  weighted  him  down.  Perhaps, 
too,  the  conditions  of  his  professorship  in  a  comparatively  small 
denominational  college  were  not  entirely  congenial.  There  is 
a  report  that  a  minister  of  the  denomination  was  an  applicant 
for  his  chair,  and  that  such  a  one  succeeded  him  —  which  may 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY  125 

or  may  not  be  true,  although  the  case  has  often  happened  else- 
where. At  any  rate,  it  was  inevitable  that  he  should  find  out 
the  paths  of  his  own  genius,  and,  though  late,  have  had  the 
determination  to  enter  upon  them.  This  last  demanded  not  a 
little  courage.  A  professorship,  even  if  poorly  paid,  was  at 
least  something  fairly  definite,  though  often  with  varying  value. 
Many  must  have  been  the  misgivings  and  dishearten ings  of 
friends,  and  possibly  even  of  his  immediate  family.  Literature 
as  a  profession  then  in  the  South  and  in  Kentucky  was  worse 
than  doubtful.  And  it  is  doubtful  anywhere  now,  until  success 
comes. 

It  was  about  1884  that  this  determination  to  devote  him- 
self henceforth  to  literary  work  was  put  into  effect.  It  was 
naturally  to  New  York  that  he  looked,  the  publishing  centre 
not  only  of  the  American  magazines  but  of  newspapers  that  had 
standards  and  paid  something  for  work.  In  a  "tribute  of  one 
who  was  once  his  pupil,"  Mr.  John  Fox,  Jr.  (himself  a  literary 
worker  of  no  mean  power),  to  be  found  in  The  Writer,  Boston, 
July,  1891,  is  given  briefly  the  most  definite  statement  of  Mr. 
Allen's  first  work:  "Letters,  chiefly  on  Southern  subjects, 
were  coming  out  in  the  New  York  Evening  Post,  and  occa- 
sionally a  poem  appeared  in  Harper 's,  the  At/antic,  or  Lippin- 
cott's,  or  an  essay,  critical  or  humorous,  in  the  CW/*Vorthe  Forum. 
So  that  Mr.  Allen  was  widely  known  as  a  critic  and  essayist  be- 
fore the  first  of  his  striking  tales."  From  the  same  hand  he  is  at 
this  time  thus  enthusiastically  described:  "I  believe  I  know  no 
man  whom  nature  has  made  quite  so  near  what  a  man  should  be 
in  mind,  character,  and  physique.  Physically,  Lane  Allen,  as  he 
is  intimately  known,  is  not  much  unlike  Gordon  Helm,  the 
hero  of  'Sister  Dolorosa:'  Saxon  in  type,  tall,  splendidly  pro- 
portioned, with  a  magnificent  head  and  a  strong,  kindly  face. 
I  know  not  whether  I  admire  him  most  for  his  brain  or  for  his 
heart,  his  exquisite  cultivation  or  his  greatness  of  soul.  His 
manner  is  what  all  Southerners  like  to  believe  was  the  manner 
of  typical  Southern  gentlemen  of  the  old  school." 

The  articles,  in  the  New  York  Post  concerned  the  Cumberland 
Mountains,  and  an  order  came  for  sketches  of  the  blue  grass 


128  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN:    A   STUDY 

section  of  Kentucky  for  Harper  s  Magazine.  These  two  series 
of  writings  formed  the  basis  of  the  first  distinctive  piece  of 
work  from  Mr.  Allen's  pen,  and  these  descriptive  sketches  were 
afterwards  gathered  into  a  volume  under  the  title  "The  Blue 
Grass  Region  of  Kentucky,"  interestingly  enough  now  followed, 
ten  years  later,  by  Mr.  John  Fox's  own  series  of  portrayals,  in  a 
somewhat  different  vein,  less  formal  and  more  adventurous,  as 
indicated  by  the  title  "Blue  Grassand  Rhododendron."  These 
sketches  of  Mr.  Allen's  were  mere  training  work,  and  were  felt 
as  such.  But  yet,  while  they  are  "mere  training  work,"  as 
compared  with  the  richness  and  spiritual  value  of  the  interpre- 
tations of  Kentucky  life  and  landscape  which  followed,  it  would 
be  wrong  to  give  the  impression  that  they  constitute  nothing 
better  than  'hack-work.'  Already  the  poet  and  lover  is  there, 
who  has  grown  up  amid  these  scenes  and  sees  these  sights  out- 
wardly, yet  in  a  degree  spiritually,  too,  and  tells  of  them  sympa- 
thetically to  others.  But  this  applies  only  to  the  descriptions  of 
his  blue  grass  section.  Of  Cumberland  Gap  and  Eastern  Ken- 
tucky there  is  a  difference  in  style,  as  there  is  a  difference  in 
subject-matter.  Everywhere  is  the  loyal  Kentuckian,  but  with 
these  parts  he  is  acquainted  only  externally  by  visiting  them. 
But  however  much  the  moods  and  words  of  a  lover,  even  the 
best  descriptions  do  not  as  yet  reveal  the  rarely  spiritual  qualities 
into  which  the  author  was  to  grow.  These  first  came  with  the 
"Cardinal"  and  "Butterflies, "and  are  seen,  after  a  summer's  visit 
to  England,  in  such  a  contribution  as  that  in  the  Southern  Maga- 
zine (Louisville,  February,  1896)  on  English  Wood  Notes  with 
Kentucky  Echoes. 

With  the  acceptance  and  publication  of  these  sketches  Mr. 
Allen  may  be  regarded  as  fairly  launched  upon  his  literary  life. 
For  a  time  he  made  his  home  in  Cincinnati,  in  order  to  be  near 
his  material  and  to  be  able  at  least  to  see  the  physical  outlines 
of  Kentucky  soil,  yet  so  as  to  be  within  access  of  a  centre  of  life 
and  of  books.  Finding  at  length  this  too  limited,  he  ventures 
for  a  short  space  to  Washington  as  the  national  capital  and 
possible  future  home  of  literature  and  art  in  America.  Social 
and  official  distractions  interfere,  and  soon  he  is  drawn  to  the 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY  127 

publishing  and  bookmaking  and  working  centre  of  the  United 
States,  as  the  best  environment  for  the  steady  employment  of 
his  powers.  Thus  it  is  in  the  heart  of  New  York  City  that  Mr. 
Allen  at  present  lives  and  finds  he  can  most  easily  lose  himself 
in  his  work. 

III. 

Mr.  Allen's  work  belongs  to  the  last  fifteen  years,  and  the  ap- 
pearance of  his  collected  work  in  volumes  essentially  to  the  last 
ten.  His  first  volume  was  made  up  of  six  pieces  which  had  pre- 
viously appeared  in  the  magazines  —  one  from  Harpers  and  the 
remaining  five  from  the  Century.  He  had,  therefore,  been  be- 
fore the  public  some  years  when  the  Messrs.  Harper  published 
this  volume  in  1891.  The  exact  title  was  "Flute  and  Violin, 
and  Other  Kentucky  Tales  and  Romances,"  and  the  volume  was 
dedicated  to  his  mother.  The  contents  were:  "Flute  and 
Violin"  ("The  Parson's  Magic  Flute"  and  "A  Boy's  Violin"), 
"King  Solomon  of  Kentucky,"  "Two  Gentlemen  of  Kentucky," 
"The  White  Cowl,"  "Sister  Dolorosa,"  and  "Posthumous 
Fame."  The  story  of  the  "Flute  and  Violin"  had  announced 
a  master  of  very  delicately  humorous  and  pathetic  effect; 
"The  White  Cowl"  and  "Sister  Dolorosa"  had  wonderfully 
popularized  him.  Particularly  the  last  made  little  less  than  a 
sensation  among  more  emotional  readers  when  it  first  came  out 
in  the  Century  Magazine 

The  sub-title  reveals  the  romantic  character  of  the  volume, 
and  the  author's  interest  in  and  consciousness  of  the  past.  The 
process  of  his  development,  as  has  been  said,  has  been  that  of 
the  romanticist  in  nature,  changing  to  the  realist  in  method. 
As  the  realities  of  life  press  about  him  and  he  gains  in  experi- 
ence, he  turns  from  the  past  to  the  present  —  from  the  past  with 
its  romance  to  the  present  full  of  its  questionings.  It  is  Ken- 
tucky's history  that  holds  him,  the  past  of  his  own  State,  filled 
with  rich  traditions  and  associations.  The  early  history  of 
Lexington  and  the  beginnings  of  Transylvania  University 
furnish  the  material  for  the  first  story  in  the  figure  of  the  Rev. 
James  Moore,  who  had  been  brought  up  a  Presbyterian  but  had 


128       JAMES  LANE  ALLEN:  A  STUDY 

become  the  first  Episcopal  minister  in  the  western  settlements, 
with  his  weakness  for  flute-playing  and  his  attractiveness  for 
the  female  portion  of  his  congregation.  Both  the  Rev.  James 
Moore,  and  a  phase  of  the  history  of  this  institution  of  learning 
reappear  in  Mr.  Allen's  later  work.  The  wise  and  gentle 
counselor  and  friend  of  John  Gray  in  "The  Choir  Invisible"  is 
this  same  flute-loving  parson  at  an  earlier  and  more  vigorous 
stage  of  his  career;  and  it  is  in  a  department  of  Transylvania 
University,  just  after  the  war,  that  the  scene  of  the  major  part 
of  "The  Reign  of  Law"  is  laid. 

A  characteristic  description  of  the  past  appears  after  three  or 
four  pages:  "the  two-story  log  house;  .  .  .  his  supper  of  coffee 
sweetened  with  brown  sugar,  hot  johnnycake,  with  perhaps  a 
cold  joint  of  venison  and  cabbage  pickle;  .  .  .  the  solitary 
tallow  dip  in  its  little  brass  candlestick;  .  .  .  the  rude,  steep 
stairs;  .  .  .  the  leathern  string  that  lifted  the  latch;  ...  a 
little  deal  table  covered  with  text-books  and  sermons ;  a  rush- 
bottomed  chair."  These  bits  are  a  sample  of  the  picturesque 
element  that  Mr.  Allen  has  gathered  from  many  quarters. 

The  powers  of  description  of  nature  are  beginning  in  the 
"Two  Gentlemen  of  Kentucky,"  as  it  opens  with  the  picture: 
"The  Woods  Are  Hushed."  Yet  the  excess  of  rhetoric  is  dis- 
cernible, and  it  is  'finer'  writing  than  the  author  permits  him- 
self in  maturer  pieces  like  "A  Kentucky  Cardinal"  and  "The 
Reign  of  Law,"  redolent  with  the  feeling  for  nature  and  its  inner 
spiritual  forces.  It  is  one  of  the  author's  earliest  compositions, 
and  we  may  therefore  contrast  it  with  some  profit  with  his  latest 
work.  Both  are  pictures  of  the  season  of  autumn.  "The  Eter- 
nal Power  seemed  to  have  quitted  the  universe  and  left  all  nature 
folded  in  the  calm  of  the  Eternal  Peace.  Around  the  pale-blue 
dome  of  the  heavens  a  few  pearl-colored  clouds  hung  motion- 
less, as  though  the  wind  had  been  withdrawn  to  other  skies.  Not 
a  crimson  leaf  floated  downward  through  the  soft,  silvery  light 
that  filled  the  atmosphere  and  created  the  sense  of  lonely,  un- 
imaginable spaces.  This  light  overhung  the  far-rolling  landscape 
of  field  and  meadow  and  wood,  crowning  with  faint  radiance  the 
remoter,  low-swelling  hilltops  and  deepening  into  dreamy  half- 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY  129 

shadows  on  their  eastern  slopes.  Nearer,  it  fell  in  a  white  flake 
on  an  unstirred  sheet  of  water  which  lay  along  the  edge  of  a 
mass  of  sombre-hued  woodland,  and  nearer  still  it  touched  to 
spring-like  brilliancy  a  level,  green  meadow  on  the  hither  edge  of 
the  water,  where  a  group  of  Durham  cattle  stood  with  reversed 
flanks  near  the  gleaming  trunks  of  some  leafless  sycamores.  Still 
nearer,  it  caught  the  top  of  the  brown  foliage  of  a  little  bent 
oak  tree  and  burned  it  into  a  silvery  flame.  It  lit  on  the  back 
and  the  wings  of  a  crow  flying  heavily  in  the  path  of  its  rays,  and 
made  his  blackness  as  white  as  the  breast  of  a  swan.  In  the 
immediate  foreground  it  sparkled  in  minute  gleams  along  the 
stalks  of  the  coarse,  dead  weeds  that  fell  away  from  the  legs  and 
the  flanks  of  a  white  horse,  and  slanted  across  the  face  of  the 
rider  and  through  the  ends  of  his  gray  hair,  which  straggled 
from  beneath  his  soft  black  hat." 

In  the  following  from  the  opening  chapter  of  "The  Reign  of 
Law"  observe  how  more  concrete  and  restrained,  yet  passionate 
and  vital,  is  the  description.  "One  day  something  is  gone  from 
earth  and  sky:  autumn  has  come,  season  of  scales  and  balances, 
when  the  earth,  brought  to  judgment  for  its  fruits,  says,  'I  have 
done  what  I  could. — Now  let  me  rest! ' 

"Fall!  —  and  everywhere  the  sights  and  sounds  of  falling.  In 
the  woods,  through  the  cool,  silvery  air,  the  leaves,  so  indispen- 
sable once,  so  useless  now.  Bright  day  after  bright  day, 
dripping  night  after  dripping  night,  the  never-ending  filtering 
or  gusty  fall  of  leaves.  The  fall  of  walnuts,  dropping  from  bare 
boughs  with  muffled  boom  into  the  deep  grass.  The  fall  of  the 
hickorynut,  rattling  noisily  down  through  the  scaly  limbs  and 
scattering  its  hulls  among  the  stones  of  the  brook  below.  The 
fall  of  buckeyes,  rolling  like  balls  of  mahogany  into  the  little 
dust  paths  made  by  sheep  in  the  hot  months  when  they  had 
sought  those  roofs  of  leaves.  The  fall  of  acorns,  leaping  out  of 
their  matted  green  cups  as  they  strike  the  rooty  earth.  The  fall 
of  red  haw,  persimmon,  and  pawpaw,  and  tbe  odorous  wild  plum 
in  its  valley  thickets.  The  fall  of  all  seeds  whatsoever  of  the 
forest,  now  made  ripe  in  their  high  places  and  sent  back  to  the 
ground,  there  to  be  folded  in  against  the  time,  when  they  shall 

10 


130  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN:    A    STUDY 

arise  again  as  the  living  generations;  the  homing,  downward 
flight  of  the  seeds  in  the  many-colored  woods  all  over  the  quiet 
land. 

"In  the  fields,  too,  the  sights  and  sounds  of  falling,  the  fall  of 
the  standing  fatness.  The  silent  fall  of  the  tobacco,  to  be  hung 
head  downward  in  fragrant  sheds  and  barns.  The  felling 
whack  of  the  corn  knife  and  the  rustling  of  the  blades,  as  the 
workman  gathers  within  his  arm  the  top-heavy  stalks  and  presses 
them  into  the  bulging  shock.  The  fall  of  pumpkins  into  the 
slow-drawn  wagons,  the  shaded  side  of  them  still  white  with 
the  morning  rime.  In  the  orchards,  the  fall  of  apples  shaken 
thunderously  down,  and  the  piling  of  these  in  sprawling  heaps 
near  the  cider  mills.  In  the  vineyards,  the  fall  of  sugaring 
grapes  into  the  baskets  and  the  bearing  of  them  to  the  wine 
press  in  the  cool  sunshine,  where  there  is  the  late  droning  of 
bees  about  the  sweet  pomace." 

There  are  other  significant  points  of  development  between 
early  and  later  work.  Mr.  Allen's  search  for  the  elusive  word 
is  from  the  first  a  characteristic,  though  in  this  earlier  work  we 
can  meet  words  we  need  not  expect  to  find  later.  For  instance, 
we  know  he  has  got  beyond,  "James  kicked  against  such  rigor 
in  his  brethren."  The  same  adjective  is  often  repeated — 
particularly  'shy'  is  a  favorite  epithet  in  dealing  with  the 
parson.  Conscious  gleams  of  fancy  are  'wool -gathered'  —  the 
past  participle  for  the  usual  present;  or  an  expression  like,  "One 
might  say  that  he  was  playing  the  cradle  song  of  his  mind. ' ' 

Humor  and  pathos  lie  close  together  —  the  gently  amusing  by 
the  side  of  the  tragic  —  in  these  early  pieces.  There  are  many 
deft  touches.  The  Rev.  James  Moore's  chair  of  philosophy 
was  "a  large  chair  to  sit  in  with  ill-matched  legs  and  most  un- 
certain bottom" — a  note  now  reminding  singularly  of  the  later 
condition  of  that  chair  in  "The  Reign  of  Law."  The  prophecy 
of  delicacy  of  humor  was  fulfilled,  too,  although  the  seriousness 
of  Mr.  Allen's  views  of  art  and  of  life  overshadow  it.  Here  is 
a  small  portion  of  the  description  of  the  bachelor  parson:  "A 
bachelor  —  being  a  logician;  therefore  sweet-tempered,  never 
having  sipped   the  sour  cup  of  experience;  gazing  covertly  at 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN:    A   STUDY  131 

womankind  from  behind  the  delicate  veil  of  unfamiliarity  that 
lends  enchantment;  being  a  bachelor  and  a  bookworm,  therefore 
already  old  at  forty,  and  a  little  run  down  in  his  toilets,  a  little 
frayed  out  at  the  elbows  and  the  knees,  a  little  seamy  along  the 
back,  a  little  deficient  at  the  heels ;  in  pocket  poor  always,  and 
always  the  poorer  because  of  a  spendthrift  habit  in  the  matter 
of  secret  charities;  .  .  .  gentle,  lovable;  timid,  resolute;  for- 
getful, remorseful;  eccentric,  impulsive,  thinking  too  well  of 
every  human  creature  but  himself;  an  illogical  logician,  an 
erring  moralist,  a  wool-gathered  philosopher,  but,  humanly 
speaking,  almost  a  perfect  man." 

Compare  with  this  the  affectionate  portrayal  of  another 
bachelor  in  the  "Two  Gentlemen  of  Kentucky:"  "It  was  a  sub- 
tle evidence  of  deterioration  in  manliness  that  he  had  taken 
to  dress.  .  .  .  Usually  he  wore  a  derby  hat,  a  black  diagonal 
coat,  gray  trousers,  and  a  white  necktie.  But  the  article  of 
attire  in  which  he  took  chief  pleasure  was  hose;  and,  the  better 
to  show  the  gay  colors  of  these,  he  wore  low-cut  shoes  of  the 
finest  calfskin,  turned  up  at  the  toes.  Thus  his  feet  kept  pace 
with  the  present,  however  far  his  head  may  have  lagged  in  the 
past;  and  it  may  be  that  this  stream  of  fresh  fashions,  flowing 
perennially  over  his  lower  extremities  like  water  about  the 
roots  of  a  tree,  kept  him  from  drying  up  altogether. 

"Peter  always  polished  his  shoes  with  too  much  blacking, 
perhaps  thinking  that  the  more  the  blacking  the  greater  the 
proof  of  love.  He  wore  his  clothes  about  a  season  and  a  half  — 
having  several  suits  —  and  then  passed  them  on  to  Peter.  .  .  .  '. 
To  have  seen  the  Colonel  walking  about  his  grounds  and  garden, 
followed  by  Peter,  just  a  year  and  a  half  behind  in  dress 
and  a  yard  and  a  half  behind  in  space,  one  might  well  have 
taken  the  rear  figure  for  the  Colonel's  double,  slightly  the 
worse  for  wear,  somewhat  shrunken,  and  cast  into  a  heavy 
shadow."  There  could  also  be  added  the  description  of  Peter's 
preacher's  garb  —  the  blue  jeans  dress  coat  with  the  long  and 
spacious  tails,  having  a  border  of  biblical  texts.  The  same 
spirit  prevails  in  the  tenderness  of  the  portrayal  of  the  Colonel's 
death,   and   then   Peter's;    "It  was  perhaps   fitting   that    his 


132  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    ASTUDY 

[Peter's]  winding  sheet  should  be  the  vestment  in  which,  years 
agone,  he  had  preached  to  his  fellow-slaves  in  bondage ;  for  if  it 
so  be  that  the  dead  of  this  planet  shall  come  forth  from  their 
graves  clad  in  the  trappings  of  mortality,  then  Peter  should 
arise  on  the  Resurrection  Day  wearing  his  old  jeans  coat."  In 
the  bachelors  of  these  two  pieces  is  the  genius  of  the  later, 
though  younger,  one  in  "A  Kentucky  Cardinal." 

Here  is  the  sense  of  the  picturesque  too:  "Never  before  had 
the  stub  of  the  little  crutch  been  plied  so  nimbly  among  the 
stones  of  the  rough  sidewalk.  Never  before  had  he  made  a 
prettier  picture,  with  the  blue  cap  pushed  far  back  from  his 
forehead,  his  yellow  hair  blowing  about  his  face,  the  old  black 
satin  waistcoat  flopping  like  a  pair  of  disjointed  wings  against 
his  sides,  the  open  newspaper  streaming  backward  from  his 
hand,  and  his  face  alive  with  hope."  The  exquisiteness  of  the 
picture  of  the  little  lame  child  and  the  sacrificing  love  of  the 
parson  for  him  show  the  author's  broad,  gentle  humanity.  An- 
other picture  in  the  court  room  at  the  close  of  "King  Solomon 
of  Kentucky"  almost  chokes  a  sob  in  the  simple  telling. 

Yet  with  all  the  high  praise  they  command,  the  descriptive 
passages  are  almost  unimportant  when  compared  with  the  ex- 
treme felicity  and  happiness  of  those  of  later  pieces.  Thus  it 
happened  that  the  spirit  of  the  "Cardinal"  came  with  such  sur- 
prise to  a  number  of  the  readers  of  these  sketches.  The  art  of 
description  is  employed  more  freely  in  both  "The  White  Cowl" 
and  "Sister  Dolorosa,"  but  it  is  used  merely  as  setting  and 
background;  not  yet,  as  in  the  later  pieces,  is  it  the  heart 
and  soul  of  the  movement.  There  is  a  casual  reference  to  hemp 
in  "King  Solomon;"  in  "The  Reign  of  Law"  the  stages  of  the 
hemp  in  the  fields  not  only  illustrate  the  story  but  constitute  an 
image  of  all  life. 

The  order  of  composition  of  the  stories  in  the  "Flute  and 
Violin"  volume  is  really  fortuitous.  It  seems  to  begin  chrono- 
logically with  the  "Two  Gentlemen  of  Kentucky,"  written  in 
exemplification  of  the  author's  theory  that  the  glory  of  the  new 
Southern  fiction  after  the  war  was  that  it  helped  in  uniting 
North  and  South  by  revealing  to  the  world  the  tender  relations 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY  183 

which  had  existed  between  master  and  man.  This  is  a  story, 
with  a  blending  of  both  humor  and  pathos,  of  the  decay  of  a 
gentleman  of  the  old  school  and  his  devoted  negro  attendant, 
another  gentleman  of  the  same  school.  Both,  stranded  on 
the  shores  of  a  new  sort  of  world,  pass  down  the  slope  of 
life  together  until  at  last  they  lie  side  by  side  in  their  graves. 
Mr.  Allen  is  in  this  story  in  closest  touch  with  Mr.  Page  of 
Virginia,  and  Mr.  Harris  of  Georgia.  But  if  he  follows  them 
in  general  theme,  the  treatment  is  still  individual,  and  he  soon 
passes  away  into  definite  paths  of  his  own. 

A  darker  picture  of  relations  between  white  and  black  is 
touched  on  in  "King  Solomon  of  Kentucky."  The  basis  of  the 
story  is  historic,  a  reminiscence  from  the  cholera  devastation 
in  Kentucky  in  the  thirties.  The  shiftless,  run-down  white 
man  is  sold  at  public  outcry  for  service,  and  is  bought  in  by  a 
freed  negro  woman,  who  saves  him  and  serves  him  and  leaves 
him  free.  The  terrible  cholera  epidemic  overwhelms  the 
town  —  it  is  a  page  out  of  the  life  of  Lexington  that  is  por- 
trayed—  and  King  Solomon's  redemption  comes  at  last  in  his 
bravery  in  resolutely  digging  graves  for  the  scores  of  dead, 
when  all  others  had  fled.  The  picture  becomes  more  than 
pathetic ;  it  grows  grimly  tragical  and  heroic,  in  the  relation  of 
slave  and  free,  black  and  white,  and  in  the  dawning  of  spiritual 
possibilities  in  the  wreck  of  a  human  soul. 

That  there  was  in  the  heart  of  Kentucky  since  the  pioneer 
days  a  colony  of  Trappist  Monks  and  a  Convent  of  the  Stricken 
Heart  came  with  a  surprise  to  many  unacquainted  with  these 
special  facts  of  local  history.  Mr.  Allen  had  already  called 
attention  to  the  seeming  incongruity  of  their  presence  in  his 
"Blue  Grass  Region  of  Kentucky,"  and  in  them  he  lays  the  scene 
of  the  next  two  stories.  In  the  light  of  his  later  work,  both 
have  melodramatic  elements  and  are  too  highly  colored.  But 
this  very  use  of  the  imagination  seized  hold  of  the  popular 
fancy.  Both  have  fundamentally  the  same  subject:  the  revolt 
of  the  human  heart  when  once  stirred  against  unnatural  re- 
straint. A  'brother'  of  the  order  overhears  a  conversation  which 
he  cannot   get   out  of  his   head  —  he  meets  the   woman  —  he 


134  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A   STUDY 

is  haunted  with  her  memory — the  inherited  Kentucky  ancestral 
strain  asserts  itself  —  he  breaks  his  vows  —  he  woos  and  wins 
her  —  losing  all,  he  returns  to  die.  A  'sister'  of  the  convent 
meets  a  stranger  —  her  heart  is  moved  and  ensnares  her  —  and 
there  remains  the  unhappiness  of  her  fate. 

The  speech  of  the  cripple  to  the  young  woman  under  the  walls 
of  the  convent  in  "The  White  Cowl,"  which  Father  Palemon 
overhears,  and  which  starts  the  vague  unrest  in  his  nature,  shows 
too  much  the  machinery  of  obtaining  a  situation.  Mr.  Allen's 
personal  note  and  thought,  emphasized  fully  in  all  three  of  his 
latest  works,  is  the  conflict  and  self-struggles  in  life.  Here  and 
later  the  strength  of  the  forces  of  Inheritance  and  Nature, 
which  must  fight  against  Circumstance,  is  the  real  subject. 
And  so  the  confession  to  the  brotherhood  is  merely  the  first 
note  of  alarm  and  danger  —  the  symbol  of  the  appalling  conflict 
to  ensue  within  a  man's  heart  and  soul.  Father  Palemon  was 
sprung  from  a  violent  and  passionate  parentage,  and  latent  fires 
in  his  nature  had  never  been  supplied  with  oxygen  from  the  air 
beyond  the  daily  routine  of  his  life.  At  last  comes  the  startling, 
one-sided  self-revelation  as  the  result  of  a  one-sided  training 
and  mental  perception  —  just  as  in  David's  case  in  "The  Reign 
of  Law" — "the  fathers  have  lied  to  me!  "  The  storm  gathers  in 
the  man's  soul  and,  as  everywhere  when  Mr.  Allen  feels  deeply, 
Nature  takes  control,  and  his  comparisons  and  figures  are  drawn 
from  her  phenomena  and  processes.  The  conflict  comes  to  a 
crisis  —  the  same  sort  of  a  conflict  as  was  later  in  the  hemp 
fields.  And  after  a  storm,  Nature  seems  very  sweet:  "Another 
June  came  quickly  into  the  lonely  valley  of  the  Abbey  of  Geth- 
semane.  Again  the  same  sweet  monastery  bells  in  the  purple 
twilights,  and  the  same  midnight  masses.  Monks  again  at  work 
in  the  gardens,  their  cowls  well  tied  up  with  hempen  cords. 
Monks  once  more  teaching  the  pious  pupils  in  the  school 
across  the  lane."  There  is  something  forced  in  the  situation  — 
too  imaginative,  possibly,  for  actual  conditions ;  and  yet  the  cen- 
tral thought  of  struggle  of  forces  and  natures  must  be  true  —  to 
one  of  Mr.  Allen's  character  and  temperament  is  true.  Hence 
an  inner  growth  and  warring  is  the  breath  of  his  later  pieces. 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A   STUDY  116 

"The  White  Cowl"  has  more  vehemence  and  passion;  "Sister 
Dolorosa"  more  tenderness  and  sympathy.  The  success  and 
popularity  of  "Sister  Dolorosa"  upon  its  appearance  were  instan- 
taneous and  unmistakable.  Looking  at  the  story  more  calmly 
in  the  light  of  later  work,  it  is  less  probable,  is  farther  away 
from  actual  life,  but  is  more  appealing  because  it  is  so  imagined. 
This  produces  some  excess  of  'fine'  writing  and  an  abundance 
of  conceits.  It  is  not  so  simple,  not  so  natural  in  point  of  mere 
style.  The  physical  ears  may  not  be  closed,  but  convey  a 
message  to  spiritual  ears.  It  is  again  from  a  conversation  that 
the  conflict  ensues  between  narrower  and  wider  conceptions  — 
life  without  love  and  life  with  a  knowledge  of  what  love  means. 
This  grows  evident  in  the  portents,  the  signs,  the  symbols, 
the  seed  of  inheritance  ever  consciously  present,  the  conversa- 
tion, the  allegorizing,  the  communion  with  nature,  the  addresses 
to  the  white  violet,  the  English  sparrow,  and  the  butterfly.  The 
normal  Kentucky  ideal  of  manhood  is  expressed  by  Gordon 
Helm.  The  chill  felt  upon  entering  the  convent  is  one  from 
personal  experience :  the  lack  of  sympathy  strengthening  into  a 
distinct  protest  for  the  young  life  crushed  out.  The  accidental 
shooting  was  not  inevitable,  but  is  an  obtrusion  of  machinery 
into  the  piece.  And  so  with  the  end.  The  tale  is  screwed  to 
too  high  a  pitch ;  it  is  elaborated  in  its  rhetorical  effects ;  it 
works  on  the  emotions  of  those  who  lend  themselves  to  it ;  and 
the  ending  is  not  true.  And  yet,  despite  all  this,  one  must 
bear  witness  to  the  strong  impression  left  by  the  delicacy  and 
intensity  of  the  story  upon  its  first  reading,  and  many  pictures 
in  it,  worthy  of  the  painter,  remain  fixed  in  memory. 

The  last  tale  of  the  series  is  of  much  less  interest :  "Posthumous 
Fame;  or,  a  Legend  of  the  Beautiful."  It  is  like  the  method  of 
Hawthorne  —  whom  Mr.  Allen  elsewhere  suggests  —  in  "The 
Ambitious  Guest"  or  "The  Great  Stone  Face."  However, 
"Posthumous  Fame"  cannot  take  rank  with  the  marvelous  purity 
and  simplicity  of  these.  The  allegory  is  slight :  an  artist  erects  a 
beautiful  monument  to  make  his  love  famous  —  and  instead,  so 
misleading  become  reports,  she  is  held  as  infamous,  and  in  rage 
he  breaks  his  masterpiece  into  splinters.     It  is  the  least  satis- 


136  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN:    A   STUDY 

factory  of  the  sketches,  because   it  is  farthest  removed  from 
life. 

The  gem  of  the  collection,  viewed  from  its  growing  insight 
into  life  and  the  portrayal  of  human  nature,  is  unquestionably 
the  one  which  gives  its  name  to  the  series,  "Flute  and  Violin." 
It  was  suggested  by  a  slab  of  marble  to  the  memory  of  the  Rev. 
James  Moore,  in  Christ  Church,  Lexington,  and  is  a  very  real 
page  from  the  romance  of  the  past,  delicately,  naturally,  and 
humorously  drawn.  Its  sympathy  and  interest,  the  humor  and 
pathos  of  its  situations,  the  reaction  of  circumstance  on  life,  and 
the  stiffening  of  the  moral  qualities,  are  its  traits :  the  dear  flute- 
playing  bachelor  parson ;  the  widow  Spurlock  and  dame  Furnace 
spying  through  the  keyhole  and  the  window,  both  of  which  have 
been  made  more  spacious  in  order  "to  provide  the  parson  una- 
wares with  a  sufficiency  of  air  and  light; "  the  widow  Babcock 
silently  weeping  behind  her  veil  as  she  hears  the  parson's  solemn 
warning  on  "The  Kiss  that  Betrayeth;"  the  temptation  of  the 
crippled  boy;  the  union  of  both  flute  and  violin  hung  solemnly  in 
memory  on  the  wall,  unconscious  instruments,  symbolic  of  the 
tragedy  that  resulted.  It  is  a  piece  which  takes  hold  of  the  heart 
—  the  reader  both  smiles  and  is  touched,  and  he  remembers. 

One  chief  trait  of  the  writer  is  already  apparent  —  the  serious 
view  Mr.  Allen  has  of  his  art.  He  may  sometimes  obtrude 
this,  but  we  are  none  the  less  grateful.  He  is  already  an  avowed 
and  conscious  artist,  which  means  primarily  he  is  an  artist. 
And  this  first  consciousness  has  passed  into  careful  workman- 
ship with  due  regard  to  effect.  We  may  see  the  worker,  but 
we  like  the  work.  That  he  is  even  now  a  close  critic  of  his  own 
work  is  seen  in  his  working  over  what  he  has  done  —  strengthen- 
ing and  refining.  "The  White  Cowl,"  it  is  said,  he  worked  over 
at  least  four  times.  Witness  the  later  conversion  of  "John  Gray" 
into  "The  Choir  Invisible"  and  the  changes  in  the  ending  of 
"Butterflies."  He  holds  a  manuscript  a  long  time  before  he  lets 
it  go  to  the  printer,  and  I  fancy  more  than  one  proof  with  ad- 
ditions and  alterations  go  back  and  forth  to  the  composing 
room.  But  this  strong  conception  of  his  art,  this  polishing  over 
again  and  again,  has  produced  a  form  that  the  reader  may  de- 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY  137 

light  in  and  which  will  last  longer  than  mere  stories  told  for  a 
day.  It  is  his  distinction  that  he  is  a  master  of  a  pure  literary 
English  style.  When  the  chief  defect  of  the  literature  of  the 
Southern  States  is  that  it  lacks  the  highest  culture  and  is,  too, 
largely  in  dialect,  it  is  surely  to  Mr.  Allen's  credit  that  he 
works  with  the  King's  English  as  material  for  finely  artistic 
results.  In  this  spirit  he  next  produces  both  his  most  popular 
book  and  his  masterpiece  in  the  delicate  perfection  of  its 
literary  form — "A  Kentucky  Cardinal." 

IV. 

Up  to  this  time  in  Mr.  Allen's  work,  as  before  remarked,  we 
had  had  Nature  as  a  background,  always  visible,  but  largely 
external;  we  had  not  been  let  into  her  secrets.  This  Mr.  Allen 
suddenly  does  in  "A  Kentucky  Cardinal,"  which  appeared  first 
in  Harper  s  Magazine  in  1893-94.  It  denotes  a  new  epoch  in  his 
artistic  work  and  growth.  To  those  of  us  reading  each  sketch 
of  his  as  it  had  come  out,  it  gave  a  thrill  we  had  not  dared 
anticipate.  It  is  a  pastoral  poem  in  prose,  noting  the  procession 
of  the  seasons.  Here  was  the  heart  of  Nature  laid  bare;  here 
wrote  a  novelist  who  at  the  same  time  was  a  disciple  of  Thoreau 
and  Audubon.  Indeed,  the  spirit  of  Audubon  hovers  through  the 
book,  as  his  person  had  traversed  these  scenes  in  earlier  days, 
and  veneration  of  the  master  is  the  first  bond  of  union  between 
Adam  and  Georgiana.  Sylvia,  as  her  pastoral  name  suggests,  is 
a  little  creature  of  the  sun  and  earth,  and  fits  naturally  into  the 
landscape.  As  we  turn  the  pages,  everything  speaks  of  one 
intimately  present  at  Nature's  processes;  the  freezing  and  the 
thawing,  the  depths  of  winter's  cold  and  the  glistening  in  the 
sunlight.  We  feel  Nature  in  her  moods.  The  very  similes  are 
taken  from  Nature's  laws  and  appearances,  which  continues  true 
of  all  Mr.  Allen's  work  henceforth.  And  this  love  and  close 
observation  of  Nature  leads  him  into  the  study  of  the  laws 
underlying  the  physical  universe.  Nature  and  humanity  become 
united.  There  is  the  poetry  of  the  country  in  the  prodigal  gifts 
and  appearances  of  Nature;  there  is  the  prose  of  town  in  the 
communion  with  men.     "The  longer   I  live  here,  the  better 


138  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A   STUDY 

satisfied  I  am  in  having  pitched  my  earthly  camp  fire,  gypsy- 
like, on  the  edge  of  a  town,  keeping  it  on  one  side,  and  the 
green  fields,  lanes,  and  woods  on  the  other.  Each  in  turn  is  to 
me  as  a  magnet  to  a  needle.  At  times  the  needle  of  my  nature 
points  toward  the  country.  On  that  side  everything  is  poetry. 
I  wander  over  field  and  forest,  and  through  me  runs  a  glad 
current  of  feeling  that  is  like  a  clear  brook  across  the  meadows 
of  May.  At  others  the  needle  veers  round,  and  I  go  to  town  — 
to  the  massed  haunts  of  the  highest  animal  and  cannibal.  That 
way  nearly  everything  is  prose."  The  old  bachelor,  "the  rain 
crow",  and  the  widow,  "the  mocking  bird",  are  neighbors. 
Strawberries  and  "Lalla  Rookh";  grapes  and  "The  Seasons"; 
the  arbor  and  Sir  Walter's  novels;  the  schoolgirl  and  apples  and 
salt  —  all  are  commingled  in  profusion,  the  brightness  of  the 
humorist  uniting  with  the  tender  and  intimate  knowledge  of  the 
world  not  made  with  hands.  The  evergreens  are  "Nature's 
hostelries  for  the  homeless  ones."  "Death,  lover  of  the  peerless, 
strikes  at  him  [the  Cardinal]  from  afar."  "Is  it  this  flight 
from  the  inescapable  just  behind  that  makes  the  singing  of  the 
redbird  thoughtful  and  plaintive,  and  indeed  all  the  wild  sounds 
of  nature  so  like  the  outcry  of  the  doomed  ?  "  "This  set  flowing 
toward  me  for  days  a  stream  of  people,  like  a  line  of  ants  passing 
to  and  from  the  scene  of  a  terrific  false  alarm.  I  had  nothing  to 
do  but  sit  perfectly  still  and  let  each  ant,  as  it  ran  up,  touch  me 
with  its  antennae,  get  the  countersign,  and  turn  back  to  the 
village  ant-hill."  "Mrs.  Walters  does  not  get  into  our  best 
society;  so  that  the  town  is  to  her  like  a  pond  to  a  crane;  she 
wades  round  it,  going  in  as  far  as  she  can,  and  snatches  up  such 
fry  as  come  shoreward  from  the  middle.  In  this  way  lately  I 
have  gotten  hints  of  what  is  stirring  in  the  vasty  deeps  of  village 
opinion."  "The  scent  of  spring,  is  it  not  the  first  lyric  of  the 
nose  —  that  despised  poet  of  the  senses?  " — which  reminds  one 
curiously  of  Du  Maurier's  scenting  of  old  Paris.  There  is  this 
dwelling  on  the  sights  and  sounds  of  Nature,  yet  as  one  restrained 
and  checked  with  a  sense  of  delicacy  in  speaking  of  his  intimates 
and  friends  —  an  effect  heightened  by  the  use  of  the  first  person 
in  autobiographic  and  reminiscential  manner. 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY  139 

Take  a  further  sample  of  this  intimately  playful  mood:  "But 
most  I  love  to  see  Nature  do  her  spring  house-cleaning  in 
Kentucky,  with  the  rain  clouds  for  her  water  buckets  and  the 
winds  for  her  brooms.  What  an  amount  of  drenching  and 
sweeping  she  can  do  in  a  day!  How  she  dashes  pailful  and 
pailful  into  every  corner,  till  the  whole  earth  is  as  clean  as  a 
new  floor!  Another  day  she  attacks  the  piles  of  dead  leaves, 
where  they  have  lain  since  last  October,  and  scatters  them  in 
a  trice,  so  that  every  cranny  may  be  sunned  and  aired.  Or, 
grasping  her  long  brooms  by  the  handles,  she  will  go  into  the 
woods  and  beat  the  icicles  off  the  big  trees  as  a  housewife  would 
brush  down  cobwebs;  so  that  the  released  limbs  straighten  up 
like  a  man  who  has  gotten  out  of  debt,  and  almost  say  to  you, 
joyfully:  'Now,  then,  we  are  all  right  again!'  This  done,  she 
begins  to  hang  up  soft  new  curtains  at  the  forest  windows,  and  to 
spread  over  her  floor  a  new  carpet  of  an  emerald  loveliness  such 
as  no  mortal  looms  could  ever  have  woven.  And  then,  at  last, 
she  sends  out  invitations  through  the  South,  and  even  to  some 
tropical  lands,  for  the  birds  to  come  and  spend  the  summer  in 
Kentucky.  The  invitations  are  sent  out  in  March,  and  accepted 
in  April  and  May,  and  by  June  her  house  is  full  of  visitors." 

The  comparisons  often  run  to  epigrammatic  point.  "Her 
few  ideas  are  like  three  or  four  marbles  on  a  level  floor;  they 
have  no  power  to  move  themselves,  but  roll  equally  well  in  any 
direction  you  push  them."  "Women  who  tell  everything  are 
like  finger-bowls  of  clear  water."  "Adam  Moss  —  such  a 
green,  cool,  soft  name!" 

There  is  humor  and  human  nature,  along  with  other  nature,  a 
plenty:  "But  there  are  certain  ladies  who  bow  sweetly  to  me 
when  my  roses  and  honeysuckles  burst  into  bloom ;  a  fat  old 
cavalier  of  the  South  begins  to  shake  hands  with  me  when  my 
asparagus  bed  begins  to  send  up  its  tender  stalks ;  I  am  in  high 
favor  with  two  or  three  young  ladies  at  the  season  of  lilies  and 
sweet-pea;  there  is  one  old  soul  who  especially  loves  rhubarb 
pies,  which  she  makes  to  look  like  little  latticed  porches  in  front 
of  little  green  skies,  and  it  is  she  who  remembers  me  and  my  row 
of  pie-plant;  and  still  another,  who  knows  better  than  catbirds 


140  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY 

when  currants  are  ripe.  Above  all,  there  is  a  preacher,  who 
thinks  my  sins  are  as  scarlet  so  long  as  my  strawberries  are, 
and  plants  himself  in  my  bed  at  that  time  to  reason  with  me  of 
judgment  to  come;  and  a  doctor,  who  gets  despondent  about  my 
constitution  in  pear  time  —  after  which  my  health  seems  to  re- 
turn, but  never  my  pears." 

It  is  again  the  'other  nature'  which  persists  in  this  enthusi- 
asm of  a  sense  of  appropriation:  "They  are  all  mine — these  Ken- 
tucky wheat  fields.  After  the  owner  has  taken  from  them  his 
last  sheaf,  I  come  in  and  gather  my  harvest  also  —  one  that  he  did 
not  see,  and  doubtless  would  not  begrudge  me  —  the  harvest  of 
beauty.  Or  I  walk  beside  tufted  aromatic  hemp-fields,  as  along 
the  shores  of  softly  foaming  emerald  seas;  or  past  the  rank  and 
file  of  fields  of  Indian  corn,  which  stand  like  armies  that  had 
gotten  ready  to  march,  but  been  kept  waiting  for  further  orders, 
until  at  last  the  soldiers  had  gotten  tired,  as  the  gayest  will,  of 
their  yellow  plumes  and  green  ribbons,  and  let  their  big  hands 
fall  heavily  down  at  their  sides.  There  the  white  and  the  purple 
morning-glories  hang  their  long  festoons  and  open  to  the  soft 
midnight  winds  their  elfin  trumpets." 

Here  is  the  Kentucky  beau's  dress  in  1850,  the  time  of  our 
story:  "Late  this  afternoon  I  dressed  up  in  my  high  gray  wool 
hat,  my  fine  long-tailed  blue  cloth  coat  with  brass  buttons,  my 
pink  waistcoat,  frilled  shirt,  white  cravat,  and  yellow  nankeen 
trousers. ' ' 

Not  till  halfway  through  the  book  are  Audubon  and  Thoreau 
specifically  mentioned,  although  their  shades  have  wandered 
from  the  first  in  this  congenial  atmosphere.  Of  Thoreau: 
"Everything  that  I  can  find  of  his  is  as  pure  and  cold  and  lonely 
as  a  wild  cedar  of  the  mountain  rocks,  standing  far  above  its 
smokeless  valley  and  hushed  white  river."  But  Audubon  is 
"the  great,  the  very  great  Audubon,"  "that  rare  spirit  whom  I 
have  so  wished  to  see  and  for  one  week  in  the  woods  with  whom 
I  would  give  any  year  of  my  life. ' ' 

With  the  descriptions  of  nature  there  grows  a  tendency 
toward  moralizing  and  comment,  but  it  is  in  a  vein  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  has  never  objected  to.    It  is  Thackeray's  manner  of  being 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY  141 

confidential  with  his  readers.  One  paragraph  beginning,  "The 
birds  are  moulting.  If  man  could  only  moult  also,"  recalls  the 
latter's  "Roundabout"  on  De finibus. 

In  character  portrayal  a  contrast  is  necessarily  suggested  be- 
tween the  two  sisters,  intended  rather  as  symbols  of  widely 
differing  types.  Sylvia  is  a  "little  half-fledged  spirit,  to  whom 
the  yard  is  the  earth  and  June  eternity,  but  who  peeps  over  the 
edge  of  the  nest  at  the  chivalry  of  the  ages,  and  fancies  that  she 
knows  the  world."  But  the  chief  characterization,  wherever 
the  first  person  is  used,  lies  in  the  revelation  of  the  gentleness, 
firmness,  sensitiveness,  and  unconscious  selfishness  —  all  com- 
bined —  in  the  creation,  Adam  Moss.  Georgiana  is  pale  beside 
him,  though  we  catch  here  and  there  sincere  glimpses  of  her, 
too,  as  in  the  merry  twinkle  and  good  humor  of  her  words  when 
she  is  growing  stronger  —  words  which  playfully  repeat  the  first 
ever  passed  between  her  and  Adam:  "Old  man,  are  you  the 
gardener? " 

The  "Cardinal"  naturally  demanded  a  sequel,  though  there 
have  been  some  to  wish  one  had  never  been  written.  In  the 
"Cardinal"  the  winter  of  bachelordom,  thawed  by  the  springtide 
of  love  and  a  consequent  new  life,  was  blossoming  into  the  summer 
of  joy.  The  conclusion  is  "Aftermath,"  the  autumn  and  winter 
of  life  come  again,  the  fall  of  the  leaves  and  of  hopes,  and  the 
funeral  dirge.  The  idyllic  sweetness  has  passed  away  with  the 
flowers.  It  tells  of  the  dread  winter  of  1851-52,  when  all 
animals  unprepared  for  the  season's  unwonted  severity  suffered 
intensely.  The  fate  of  the  Cardinal  but  preceded  their  end  and 
Georgiana's  death.  The  sympathy  with  the  suffering  dumb 
ones  of  God's  creation,  fellow-beings,  even  if  not  human,  pre- 
figures the  snow-storm  and  David's  care  for  the  cattle  in  "The 
Reign  of  Law."  In  a  book  dedicated  to  Nature  there  is  the 
struggle  between  Nature  and  Love,  and  in  the  loss  of  the  be- 
loved comes  the  overpowering  sense  of  the  eternity  of  Nature. 
In  "The  Reign  of  Law"  almost  the  converse  is  suggested:  the 
cruelty  and  severity  of  Nature  softened  through  Love. 

Like  its  predecessor,  "Aftermath"  is  a  story  commingled  with 
Nature's  moods  and  seasons.     It  is  also  in  the  first  person,  and 


142  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN:    A    STUDY 

is  again  of  Adam  Moss.  His  own  bereaved  home  and  that  of 
the  birds  furnish  "the  universal  tragedy  of  the  nests."  Tender- 
ness and  delicacy  of  expression  are  occasionally  crossed  with 
boldness  of  utterance  —  the  saying  of  things  that  are  thought 
and  are  true,  but  are  usually  left  unspoken.  Where  this  is 
necessary  and  vital,  our  author  may  be  applauded  for  his  frank- 
ness. That  it  is  not  always  so  is  the  ground  upon  which  the 
severest  attacks  upon  Mr.  Allen  have  been  made.  Chief  among 
Nature's  mysteries  sex  questions  manifestly  interest  him, 
poetically  and  scientifically.  The  Sylvia  episode  is  a  fore- 
shadowing of  what  can  easily  become  butterflies  fluttering  in 
"Summer  in  Arcady." 

There  is  still  the  influence  of  Audubon  and  Thoreau,  as  well  as 
of  Alexander  Wilson,  the  ornithologist,  that  of  Audubon  always 
being  transcendent.  A  characteristic  fling  at  the  ancestors  of 
Kentuckians,  the  Virginians,  is  not  missing.  There  is  a  hint 
at  the  Bourbon  pride  in  a  particularly  favored  section  of  Ken- 
tucky at  the  expense  of  others,  emphasized  with  a  difference  in 
John  Fox's  "The  Kentuckians"  and  by  the  civil  disorders  of  1899 
and  1900.  There  is  Kentucky's  boast  of  both  Henry  Clay  and 
Abraham  Lincoln.  There  was  a  happy  reference  to  Mr.  Clay 
in  "King  Solomon,"  and  in  the  stress  of  this  winter  in  the  early 
fifties  is  recalled  the  death  of  the  great  Commoner.  More 
than  one  touch  of  local  history  is  brought  in,  not  always  to  the 
comfort  of  the  non-Kentucky  reader.  One  of  these  more  or 
less  obscure  references  is  the  shooting  of  a  Kentucky  justice 
by  Miss  Delia  Webster.  The  Kentucky  feuds  and  quarrels  are 
frankly  laughed  at  in  a  paragraph  of  humorous  satire,  which 
closes  with  truer  and  more  exalted  ideals  of  chivalry  and  honor. 
True  to  the  early  fifties,  the  spirit  of  the  Mexican  War  is  used 
as  the  historical  setting.  Georgiana's  father  was  killed  in  that 
struggle.  There  are  present,  too,  the  consciousness  of  Ken- 
tucky's part  in  developing  national  life,  in  the  "Winning  of  the 
West,  "as  the  phrase  is  here,  and  the  Kentucky  ideals  of  morals 
and  physical  bravery — ideals  to  receive  an  added  meaning  later 
in  "The  Choir  Invisible." 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY  143 


"Summer  in  Arcady"  is  the  later  and  more  poetical  name  for 
what  appeared  in  the  numbers  of  the  Cosmopolitan  in  the  winter 
of  1895-96  as  "Butterflies:  A  Tale  of  Nature."  This  story 
marks  the  most  distinct  turning  point  in  Mr.  Allen's  work.  In 
its  new  objective  method  of  treatment,  that  of  detachment  of  the 
object  for  purposes  of  study  and  reflection,  it  is  the  logical  fore- 
runner of  his  latest  tale,  which,  by  a  similar  chance,  has  had 
two  titles,  one  in  America  and  the  second  in  England:  "The 
Reign  of  Law"  and  "The  Increasing  Purpose."  As  the  title 
indicates,  "Butterflies,"  or  "Summer  in  Arcady,"  is  the  more 
idyllic  of  the  two  productions,  and  besides  possesses  a  sense  of 
the  satirical  that  connects  it  with  "Aftermath." 

"Summer  in  Arcady"  is  a  story  of  inheritance,  of  Nature's 
gifts  and  Nature's  mysterious  workings.  "The  Reign  of  Law" 
is  more  that  of  environment,  the  influence  of  a  new  era  of 
thought  awakening  every  mind  at  the  close  of  the  nineteenth 
century  and  calling  a  challenge  to  old  forms  of  belief.  Both 
show  Mr.  Allen's  paths  leading  him  along  the  ways  of  scientific 
thought.  Both  heroes  are  in  rebellion  to  old  and  worn-out 
phases  of  thought  and  attitudes  in  life;  both  are  "expelled  from 
Church;"  both  suffer  and  gain  control  and  mastery  in  some 
measure  over  self.  With  both  it  is  the  struggle  of  spiritual 
with  material  forces.  In  the  two  tales  immediately  preceding 
Mr.  Allen  worshiped  Nature  subjectively,  more  like  a  poet 
of  Wordsworth's  school.  In  his  later  work,  beginning  with 
"Summer  in  Arcady,"  the  poet  still  feels  Nature,  but  the 
reasoning  mind  is  now  objective  and  holds  calmly  aloof  as  it 
studies  the  workings  of  Nature,  where  man  is  but  one  of  its 
creatures  and  often  its  cruel  sport.  The  great  difference, 
though,  with  traces  before,  is  at  once  discernible.  It  is  the 
turning  of  the  romanticist  into  scientific  and  realistic  habits  of 
thought. 

For  this  reason  the  older  title  of  "Butterflies,"  with  its  sub- 
title, "A  Tale  of  Nature,"  is  more  indicative  of  the  author's 
attitude  than  the  later  one.     As  "a  tale  of  Nature"  it  is  the 


144  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN:    A    STUDY 

reign  of  Nature's  universal  and  all-powerful  law  in  ourselves  as 
in  all  animal  and  physical  creation,  carefully  noted  and  studied. 
This  work  deals  more  with  the  physical  forces  of  Nature.  In 
the  author's  latest  book,  where  the  consciousness  of  this  reign 
is  asserted  in  the  title,  the  subject  is  almost  entirely  transported 
to  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  spheres.  In  "Summer  in 
Arcady"  man  is  again  and  again  compared  with  the  butter- 
flies, and,  as  with  butterflies,  Nature  is  strong  and  the  creature 
seems  weak,  whirled  about  by  elemental  forces,  all  powerful 
alike  for  beneficence  and  harm. 

The  hot  summer's  day  is  typical  of  the  setting,  the  burning 
passion  of  Nature  on  all  sides.  "Nature  is  lashing  everything  — 
grass,  fruit,  insects,  cattle,  human  creatures  —  more  fiercely 
onward  to  the  fulfillment  of  her  ends.  She  is  the  great,  heartless 
haymaker,  wasting  not  a  ray  of  sunshine  on  a  clod,  but  caring 
naught  for  the  light  that  beats  upon  a  throne,  and  holding  man 
and  woman,  with  their  longing  for  immortality  and  their  ca- 
pacities for  joy  and  pain,  as  of  no  more  account  than  a  couple 
of  fertilizing  nasturtiums. ' '  And  the  story  is  of  the  full  summer 
tide  also  in  its  climax.  "A  pair  of  butterflies  out  of  their  own 
countless  kind  had  met  on  the  meadows  of  life  and,  forgetting 
all  others,  were  beginning  to  cling.  The  time  was  not  far  off 
when  Nature  would  demand  her  crisis  —  that  ever-old,  ever-new 
miracle  of  the  dust  through  which  the  perishable  becomes  the 
enduring  and  the  individual  of  a  moment  renews  itself  into  a 
type  for  ages. 

"The  crisis  came  on  in  beauty.  The  noon  of  summer  now 
was  nigh.  Each  day  the  great,  tawny  sun  became  a  more  fierce 
and  maddening  lover  of  the  earth,  and  flushed  her  more  deeply, 
and  awoke  in  her  throes  of  responsive  energy  until  the  whole 
land  seemed  to  burn  with  color  and  to  faint  in  its  own  sweetness. 

"And  this  high  aerial  miracle  of  two  floating  spheres  that 
swept  all  life  along  in  the  flow  of  its  tide  caught  the  boy  as  a 
running  sea  catches  a  weed." 

But  added  to  this  underlying  note  of  the  study  of  the  elemental 
forces  in  Nature  is  an  emphasis  on  heredity  —  what  each  of  this 
pair  of  human  butterflies  inherited  from  several  generations  past 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY  146 

in  the  same  environment  of  Nature's  warmth  and  color.  It  is 
emphasized  with  almost  unnecessary  recurrence  that  neither  is 
the  highest  type  of  manhood  and  of  womanhood,  but  a  frequent 
and  an  ordinary  type,  a  natural  species.  For  her:  "If  Daphne 
had  but  known,  hidden  away  on  one  of  those  yellow  sheets  [filed 
as  records  of  the  runaway  marriages]  were  the  names  of  her  own 
father  and  mother."  For  him:  "Nature  had  never  made  him  of 
the  highest,  or  for  the  highest  and  he  had  already  fallen  a  good 
deal  lower  than  he  was  made:  but  of  late  the  linking  of  his  life 
to  a  pure  one,  in  duty  and  in  desire,  had  helped  him  in  his 
struggle  to  do  what  was  right.  The  recollection  of  the  scene  of 
to-day  touched  him  most  deeply,  and  perhaps  during  these 
moments  he  realized  as  far  as  was  possible  to  him  now  that  the 
happiness  of  a  man's  life  lies  and  must  always  lie  where  a 
woman's  lies. 

"But  on  the  shifting  sands  of  a  false  past,  and  with  hands  little 
fitted  for  the  work,  he  was  making  his  first  sincere  but  blunder- 
ing effort  to  rear  a  barrier  of  a  moral  resistance  as  the  safeguard 
of  two  lives.  And  far  out  on  the  deeps  of  life  Nature,  like  a 
great  burying  wave,  was  rolling  shoreward  toward  him." 

"Summer  in  Arcady"  is  thus  a  story  of  the  eternal  mystery 
of  sex  attraction — of  the  primary  forces  and  passions  stirring  in 
man,  but  becoming  controlled  and  guided  nevertheless  by  some 
physical  restraint  toward  higher  purposes.  This,  therefore, 
ought  to  be  the  complete  answer  to  those  who  find  in  the  book 
only  frank  revelations  of  'natural,'  and  therefore  depraved, 
tendencies,  and  hold  up  their  hands  in  consternation  and  horror. 
Such  an  attitude  seems  a  perversion  and  a  blindness  to  artistic 
and  real  truth.  There  may  be  a  question  how  far  the  results  of 
such  study  and  dissection  should  be  given  to  the  public  generally 
in  novel  form;  but  that  the  author  is  doing  so  in  a  sincere  and 
candid  spirit,  as  a  scientific  mind  would  become  interested  in 
any  phenomenon  of  the  natural  world,  is  also  undoubted.  He  is 
presenting  a  portrait,  because  it  can  be  true,  in  the  name  of 
Truth.  Nature's  world  lies  before  him,  and  her  laws  he  is 
scrutinizing  closely.  He  seems  to  say,  "Here  is  a  phase  worth 
noting  —  observe. ' '    To  declare  that  such  a  case  has  qot  occurred 


146  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN:    A   STUDY 

and  cannot  easily  occur  in  Kentucky  and  elsewhere  would  be  to 
declare  that  Kentuckians  and  others  escape  the  force  of  Nature's 
compelling  laws.  Here  are  two  of  Nature's  creatures,  two  of 
Nature's  children,  with  ancestors  rooted  in  a  past  amid  in- 
fluences identical  with  the  present,  and  thus  they  act. 

But  the  author  does  not  forget  the  spiritual,  as  also  true  of 
life.  "Nature  had  been  having  her  way  with  him  as  an  animal 
during  these  days  of  waiting;  but  something  else  had  begun  to 
have  its  way  also —  something  that  we  satisfy  ourselves  by  calling 
not  earthly  and  of  the  body,  but  unearthly  and  of  the  soul — 
something  that  is  not  pursuit  and  enjoyment  of  another,  but 
self-sacrifice  for  another's  sake,  that  does  not  bring  satiety  but 
ever-growing  dearness  onward  through  youth,  and  joy  into  old 
age  and  sorrow  —  that  remains  faithful  when  one  of  two  sits 
warm  in  the  sun  and  the  other  lies  cold  in  the  shadow — that 
burns  on  and  on  as  a  faithful,  lonely  flame  in  a  wornout  broken 
lamp,  and  that  asks,  as  its  utmost  desire,  for  a  life  throughout 
eternity,  spirit  with  spirit." 

The  story,  in  its  unconventionality  and  its  essential  truth,  is 
the  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  of  Kentucky  and  Southern  life.  Like 
Juliet,  a  child,  a  girl  of  but  seventeen,  Daphne  is  transformed 
into  the  woman;  and  in  the  process  there  are  the  same  forbidden 
meetings  and  doubt  and  agonizing  and  rapture,  and  there  might 
have  been  death  and  tragedy  too.  But  Mr.  Allen  follows  Ken- 
tucky and  Southern  life.  These  unconventional  dramas,  if  they 
run  on,  usually  end  in  runaway  matches,— the  fierce,  consuming 
forces  of  Nature  are  conserved  and  inherited  again  in  the 
children,  as  they  received  the  same  impulses  from  their  parents. 
Like  Romeo,  Hilary,  the  youth  of  twenty,  from  following  random 
loves  at  will,  is  taught  the  truth  of  his  own  heart  by  the  growing 
assertion  of  a  better  self.  She  was  doing  just  what  her  mother 
did  before  her;  he  was  the  product  of  a  long  line  of  careless 
English,  Virginian,  and  Kentuckian  inheritance  in  a  final 
special  environment.  And  Nature  holds  her  course,  while  at 
the  same  time  there  must  be  struggling  with  the  spiritual  self. 

These  natural  passions  are  terrible  matters  in  actual  life, 
and  to  most  people  to  speak  of  them  at  all  and  to  dwell  upon 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY  147 

them  is  to  encourage  them.  It  is  touching  the  unclean  thing, 
and  this  is  their  judgment.  And  thus  the  book  is  not  under- 
stood, and  is  necessarily  distorted.  One  must,  perhaps,  have 
attained  to  the  scientific  habit  and  philosophical  attitude  of 
practical  observation  correctly  to  understand  and  sympathize 
with  the  perfect  intensity  and  realism  of  the  picture.  To  say 
it  is  not  Kentuckian  or  American,  or  of  the  world,  is  just  as 
impossible.  We  see  the  same  picture  about  us  every  recurring 
summer,  as  youth  is  attracted  to  youth.  The  romanticist  and 
the  poet  have  their  way  of  putting  it;  the  frankly  intellectual 
mind  sees  in  it  the  working  of  fundamental  forces  of  Nature, 
which  are  yet  directed  by  the  novelist  to  provident  purposes. 
That  which  perhaps  gave  the  greatest  shock  of  displeasure  was 
the  intense  naturalness  of  the  concluding  chapter  as  it  orginally 
appeared,  the  subtle  suggestion  of  the  complexity  of  a  woman's 
feelings  who  is  trusting  herself  in  a  new  relation  to  a  man  of 
this  nature  and  is  stepping  fearfully  and  timidly,  yet  resolvedly, 
into  the  great  unknown  which  the  future  contains.  It  is  the 
very  truth  that  offends,  if  it  offends  at  all. 

For  this  reason  the  Preface  written  for  the  edition  in  book 
form,  after  the  storm  which  greeted  the  first  appearance,  was 
unnecessary.  It  was  in  the  nature  of  an  apology  for  an  art 
which  needed  no  apology.  The  book  must  speak  for  itself,  and 
must  ultimately  carry  its  own  fate,  and  no  apology  or  inter- 
pretation can  help  it  or  explain  it  away.  The  purpose  of  the 
story  is  an  artistic  one,  the  truthful  representation  in  literary 
form  of  a  page  from  life.  The  Preface  was  too  far  moralizing, 
the  note  was  too  far  explanatory,  and  art  must  never  become 
didactic  and  bend  to  explain,  but  stand  self-confessed.  To- 
gether with  the  Preface,  there  are  certain  shadings  and  soften- 
ings discoverable  in  the  later  form,  springing  from  the  same 
sensitiveness,  that  are  not  always  gains.  In  the  conclusion  two 
pages  are  inserted,  repeating  explicitly  and  didactically  what  has 
already  been  suggested  delicately,  and  thereby  weakening  the 
effect.  It  was  known  before  that  Hilary  was  not  the  highest 
type  of  man,  and  the  changes  in  him  had  been  subtly  presented. 
The  tale  was  conceived  as  a  story  of  Nature  and  n?tMra]  f°rces, 


148  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY 

and  should  have  been  left  so,  after  once  being  written,  even  in 
the  face  of  a  shocked  public  sentiment  and  opposing  criticism. 
The  slight  changes  have  obscured  the  original  heightened  im- 
pression, an  impression  bolder,  more  clearly  defined,  and  more 
vital  in  its  first  conception  as  "Butterflies." 

It  is  a  story  of  what  has  happened  and  is  happening  in  our 
American  life.  That  it  may  contain  a  moral,  a  lesson,  follows 
from  itself  as  all  occurrences  in  life  have  lessons;  but  the 
lesson  need  not  too  obviously  obtrude.  The  Preface  and  con- 
sequent changes  were  a  yielding  to  demands  for  an  explanation, 
a  result  of  a  certain  sensitiveness  to  criticism.  The  story  will 
stand  as  essentially,  if  not  generally,  true  long  after  the  necessity 
for  the  Preface  has  disappeared.1 

VI. 

"The  Choir  Invisible,"  which  follows,  is  in  one  sense  out  of 
its  natural  order  in  this  thought  evolution.  But  not  so  in  art.  It 
can  be  better  understood  if  it  be  remembered  that  it  is  an  old 
story  of  Mr.  Allen's,  "John  Gray,"  which  had  appeared  originally 
in  Lippincotfs  Magazine  in  1893,  built  upon  and  altered  and 
enlarged.  It  is,  therefore,  not  so  much  the  fundamental  con- 
ception of  the  story,  which  admittedly  belongs  to  an  earlier 
period,  as  the  alterations  and  changes  in  attitude  that  indicate 
Mr.  Allen's  growth  in  artistic  power. 

Here  it  is  Colonial  and  Revolutionary  Kentucky  which  has 
hold  of  him.  The  love  story  itself,  the  chief  thing  which  the 
original  "John  Gray"  bequeathed  to  the  new  form,  has  been 
made  more  delicate  and  more  human,  though  there  again  are  those 
who  complain  of  a  departure  from  its  original  sweetness.  Such  a 
departure  was  necessary  in  the  growing  strength  of  the  concep- 
tion. The  gain  in  subtlety  is  a  sign  of  this  change.  But  par- 
ticularly pervading  is  the  consciousness  of  historic  evolution 
which  has  made  Kentucky  what  she  has  been  and  is  at  her  best. 
There  are  the  feelings  of  more  than  a  century's  past  and  growth ; 

1  Mr.  Allen  has  omitted  the  Preface  in  his  latest  (Macmillan)  edition,  the 
writer  has  learned. 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN:    A   STUDY  149 

the  thought  of  Kentucky's  lonely  stand  on  the  borderland  of  the 
great  Western  wilderness;  the  recognition  that  after  the  original 
thirteen  colonies  the  first  new  territory  and  new  State  to  be 
added  to  the  westward  was  Kentucky,  admitted  to  the  Union  in 
1792;  the  emphasis  that  the  Anglo-Saxon  pioneer  had  pushed 
his  way  through  the  mountain  fastnesses  of  the  Alleghanies  and 
was  destined  to  occupy  the  great  Mississippi  basin,  and  thence 
pass  from  ocean  to  ocean ;  and  that  this  was  the  beginning  of 
the  movement  for  expansion  and  for  nationality.  The  additions 
to  "John  Gray"  are  chiefly  in  expression  of  this  historical  spirit 
and  in  subtilizing  the  characters  of  the  story. 

Mr.  Allen's  growing  strength  is  seen  by  another  circumstance. 
It  is  the  author's  first  long  story  or  complete  novel.  The  con- 
trast can  be  seen  from  the  Table  of  Contents,  where  the  ten 
chapters  of  "John  Gray"  with  titles  have  grown  in  "The  Choir 
Invisible' '  into  twenty-three  without.  The  volume  also  appeared 
in  the  year  1897,  the  year  of  Dr.  Mitchell's  "Hugh  Wynne,"  and 
at  the  beginning  of  the  revival  of  the  novel  with  historic  setting 
in  American  fiction.  Thus  in  a  sense  it  might  be  considered 
as  an  anticipation.  But  Mr.  Allen's  work  was  far  more  than  a 
mere  historical  novel,  and  was  not  at  all  a  tale  of  adventure. 
There  is  not  an  adventure  in  it  except  the  newly  inserted 
struggle  with  the  panther,  "a  clean  contest  between  will  and 
will,  courage  and  courage,  strength  and  strength,  the  love  of 
prey  and  the  love  of  life."  But  this  is  brought  in  not  merely 
for  itself,  but  to  portray  more  faithfully  the  actual  dangers  of 
pioneer  days  and  to  help  forward  the  development  of  the  story, 
the  gradual  revelation  of  character  and  self-knowledge.  It  is  a 
soul  study  and  conflict,  or  rather  that  of  two  souls,  in  a  faith- 
fully presented  historical  environment.  It  is  as  if  the  author 
would  say:  'There  were  high  and  noble  souls  then  in  the  laying 
of  Kentucky's  foundations,  and  high  and  noble  generations 
have  sprung  from  them.'  From  a  local  picture  the  story  passes 
into  general  significance. 

There  are  corresponding  changes  in  art  form  that  make  the 
new  volume  more  subdued  or  heightened  in  color  effect  as  is 
required,  more  delicate  and  precise  in  expression.     Let  one  or 


150  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN:    A   STUDY 

two  instances,  taken  from  the  very  first  page,  suffice.  "The 
warming  bosom  of  the  earth"  was  before  warm;  "the  gleaming, 
wandering  Alps  of  the  blue  ether"  stood  originally  "those  dear 
Alps  of  the  blue  air."  Adjectives  abounding  in  "John  Gray" 
are  omitted  altogether  or  altered,  for  the  sake  of  strengthen- 
ing, as  in  "the  hope  of  [vast]  maternity,"  or  better  still  as 
seen  in  the  changes  indicated  in  the  following:  "The  [pure 
heavenly]  spirit  of  scentless  spring,  left  by  [born  of]  melting 
snows  and  the  [pure  earthy]  spirit  of  scented  [odorous]  summer, 
born  with  the  earliest  buds  [of  the  heart  of  flowers]."  To  con- 
tinue the  comparison  is  unnecessary. 

But  while  there  are  softenings  in  tone  and  in  the  shadows 
and  lights  of  style,  the  real  changes  are  spiritual,  alterations 
and  additions  for  a  more  subtly  psychological  presentation.  In 
the  first  form  we  already  had  the  nobly  eloquent  tribute  to  the 
backwoods  "schoolhouse,"  though  the  later  version  has  added 
to  even  as  fine  a  piece  of  rhetoric  as  this :  "Poor  old  schoolhouse, 
long  since  become  scattered  ashes!  Poor  little  backwoods 
academicians,  driven  in  about  sunrise,  driven  out  toward  dusk! 
Poor  little  tired  backs  with  nothing  to  lean  against !  Poor  little 
bare  feet  that  could  never  reach  the  floor!  Poor  little  droop- 
headed  figures,  so  sleepy  in  the  long  summer  days,  so  afraid  to 
fall  asleep!  Long,  long  since,  little  children  of  the  past,  your 
backs  have  become  straight  enough  measured  on  the  same  [a] 
cool  bed ;  sooner  or  later  your  [bare]  feet,  wherever  wandering, 
have  found  their  resting  places  in  [come  to  rest  on]  the  soft 
earth ;  and  all  your  drooping  heads  have  gone  to  sleep  on  [found] 
the  same  dreamless  pillow  [to  sleep  on]  and  there  [still]  are 
sleeping." 

Here  in  the  new  version  the  phrase  "the  choir  invisible"  is 
first  inserted,  taken  from  George  Eliot's  poem  of  aspiration : 

O  may  I  join  the  choir  invisible 

Of  those  immortal  dead  who  live  again ! 

The  paragraph  originally  ended  with  the  next  sentence:  "And 
the  imperious  schoolmaster,  too,  who  seemed  exempt  from 
physical  frailty,    the  young   scholar   who  guarded   as  a  stern 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN:    A   STUDY  161 

sentinel  that  lonely  outpost  of  the  imperiled  alphabet  —  even  he 
long  ago  laid  himself  down  on  the  same  mortal  level  with  you 
as  a  common  brother."  This  has  been  chastened  into:  "And 
the  young  schoolmaster,  who  seemed  exempt  from  frailty  while 
he  guarded  like  a  sentinel  that  lone  outpost  of  the  alphabet  —  he 
too  has  long  since  joined  the  choir  invisible  of  the  immortal 
dead."  All  the  rest  is  added:  "But  there  is  something  left  of 
him  though  more  than  a  century  has  passed  away:  something 
that  has  wandered  far  down  the  course  of  time  to  us  like  the 
faint  summer  fragrance  of  a  young  tree  long  since  fallen  dead 
in  its  wintered  forest— like  a  dim  radiance  yet  traveling  onward 
into  space  from  an  orb  turned  black  and  cold — like  an  old  melody 
surviving  on  and  on  in  the  air  without  any  instrument,  without 
any  strings."  So  great  hold  upon  the  writer  have  these  mem- 
ories of  the  past ! 

There  are  effective  condensations  as  well  as  expansions:  "He 
failed  to  urge  his  way  through  the  throng  as  speedily  as  he  may 
have  expected,  being  withheld  at  moments  by  passing  acquaint- 
ances, and  at  others  pausing  of  his  own  choice  to  watch  some 
spectacle  of  the  street."  This  is  a  concise  summary  of  a  much 
looser  statement  of  numberless  details  in  an  enumeration  of 
persons  who  were  typical  characters :  a  parent,  some  ladies,  the 
shoemaker,  the  bookseller.  Instead  of  these  slight,  gossipy 
matters,  the  more  earnest  spirit  of  the  new  story  demands  a 
long  description  in  many  pages  of  the  feelings  and  conditions  of 
Revolutionary  Kentucky.  This  setting  of  the  past  obtains  the 
emphasis  befitting  a  tale  placed  on  a  vaster  staging,  a  portrayal 
of  the  rugged  earnestness  and  continual  danger  of  the  lives  cast 
in  that  wilderness.  Slight  local  touches  disappear,  like  "where 
the  Federal  fort  stood  during  the  Civil  War."  The  significance 
of  the  later  struggle  to  a  later  generation  is  lost  in  the  epic 
isolation  of  the  Revolutionary  theme.  So  in  other  places  the 
descriptions  of  the  wilderness,  the  Indians,  the  schoolhouse,  the 
hunting  of  game,  the  fight  with  the  panther,  are  all  new  and 
added  as  necessary  to  the  atmosphere  of  the  later  work,  though 
some  have  objected  to  these  additions  as  extraneous. 

The  descriptions  grow  under  the  author's  pen.     On  the  first 


162  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN:    A   STUDY 

pages  is  one  of  the  Kentucky  woodland.  Also  the  seriously  re- 
flective and  moralizing  vein  grows  too — reflections  on  the 
history  of  the  State  and  nation  and  its  significance  —  all  evoked 
imaginatively.  Sensitiveness  to  Nature  and  her  appearances  and 
interest  in  all  animal  life  still  predominate:  "The  sun  had  set. 
Night  was  rushing  on  over  the  awful  land.  The  wolf-dog,  in  his 
kennel  behind  the  house,  rose,  shook  himself  at  his  chain,  and 
uttered  a  long  howl  that  reached  away  to  the  dark  woods  —  the 
darker  for  the  vast  pulsing  yellow  light  that  waved  behind  them 
in  the  west  like  a  gorgeous  soft  aerial  fan.  As  the  echoes  died 
out  from  the  peach  orchard  came  the  song  of  a  robin,  calling 
for  love  and  rest." 

Many  are  the  pictures  of  pioneer  days  in  Kentucky,  all 
tending  to  idyllic  effects,  as  nearness  to  nature  is  always  idyllic : 
the  pioneer  girl,  the  school  children  and  their  sports,  the 
barring  out  at  the  schoolhouse  like  a  miniature  Indian  attack, 
the  celebration  of  the  anniversary  of  the  battle  of  the  Blue 
Licks.  The  transmitted  Kentuckian's  ideals  of  personal  courage 
and  honor  again  become  the  theme  as  in  "Aftermath,"  and 
the  episode  of  the  printing  office  is  altered  and  enlarged  to 
accord  with  the  higher  tragic  pitch.  There  are  many  other 
matters  touched  upon  besides :  the  ownership  of  lands  and  land 
titles,  the  early  printing  press  and  bookbinding  establishment  of 
Mr.  John  Bradford,  the  dress  of  the  beau  of  that  period,  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  wedding  with  its  distant  ride  to  the  church, 
the  patriotism  and  plans  and  anxieties  for  the  youthful  national 
government,  the  Jacobin  clubs,  the  personal  influence  of 
Washington,  and  the  general  spirit  of  revolution  and  inde- 
pendence. There  is  the  tribute  to  the  beauty  of  Kentucky 
women  —  but  the  whole  story  is  that  —  and  a  forecast  of  the 
beauty  of  the  breed  of  Kentucky  horses ! 

The  sympathetic  parson,  the  Rev.  James  Moore,  is  the  same 
personage  as  in  "Flute  and  Violin,"  only  with  the  vitality  of 
twenty  years  younger.  His  is  one  of  the  best  minor  figures  in 
the  new  book  with  his  playing  on  his  flute — "perhaps  it  was  a 
way  he  had  of  calling  in  the  divided  flock  of  his  faculties" — 
his  regard  for  Paley's  "Evidences,"  his  love  of  music  and  the 


JAMES    LANE   ALLEN:    A   STUDY  168 

ancient  classics  which  went  together,  and  his  satirizing  of 
women.  That  the  Widow  Babcock  should  even  be  mentioned 
at  this  time  is  unkind  to  her  age  and  many  amiable  qualities  in 
the  former  story.  Even  the  history  of  the  Rev.  James  himself 
is  wrapped  in  some  haziness,  for  it  is  hinted  that  he  afterwards 
was  married  to  one  who  revenged  her  sex  fully  for  his  many  un- 
gallant  remarks.  Yet  in  "Flute  and  Violin"  he  is  advanced 
distinctly  into  the  fate  of  bachelordom.  His  own  description 
of  an  old  maid,  in  his  frank  talk  with  John  Gray,  might  in  the 
other  portrayal  have  stood  for  him:  "I  even  know  another  old 
maid  now  who  is  nothing  but  an  old  music  book — long  ago  sung 
through,  learned  by  heart,  and  laid  aside:  in  a  faded,  wrinkled 
binding  —  yellowed  paper  stained  by  tears  — and  haunted  by  an 
odor  of  rose  petals,  crushed  between  the  leaves  of  memory :  a 
genuine  very  thin  and  stiff  collection  of  the  rarest  original  songs 
—  not  songs  without  words,  but  songs  without  sounds  —  the 
ballads  of  an  undiscovered  heart,  the  hymns  of  an  unanswered 
spirit."  Often  the  conversation  between  the  two  men  grows 
so  warm  that  it  partakes  of  the  nature  of  stichomythia,  the  give 
and  take  in  quick  reply,  to  indicate  the  dramatic  interest. 

There  are  many  suggestions  of  spiritual  kinship  between  Mr. 
Allen's  own  nature  and  John  Gray's,  as  there  were  unconscious 
points  of  likeness  to  himself,  through  the  ideals  expressed,  in 
Gordon  Helm  in  "Sister  Dolorosa"  and  Adam  Moss  in  the 
"Cardinal."  This  analogy  extends  even  to  some  externals:  Mr. 
Allen  had  on  one  side  the  same  Scotch-Irish  ancestry,  had  taught 
school  in  the  Kentucky  countryside  before  his  removal  East,  had 
known  the  pressure  of  indebtedness  here  hinted  at  and  the  work- 
ing under  high  resolves. 

In  its  original  the  story  was  merely  one  of  unrequited  love,  a 
true  man's  love  for  a  lighter  nature  incapable  of  fully  entering 
into  and  being  made  happy  by  the  depths  of  his  character,  and 
the  man's  battle  with  self  until  he  rose  on  the  stepping-stones  of 
his  disappointment  to  better  things.  In  the  early  volume  Amy 
was  all,  and  Mrs.  Falconer,  her  aunt,  only  a  lay  figure.  But  the 
contrast  between  the  two  women  is  the  central  thought  of  the 
new  volume,  and  the  plot  of  the  old  story  serves  merely  as  an 


154  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY 

introduction  to  the  new.  In  the  deeper  psychological  spirit  of 
the  new  setting  the  heart  and  soul  of  the  movement  centre 
around  Mrs.  Falconer.  The  direct  influence  of  her  personality 
and  the  direct  influence  of  the  great  book  she  lends  to  John 
Gray  (Sir  Thomas  Malory's  narrative  of  the  conquest  of  others 
and  of  self  by  King  Arthur  and  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table) 
become  the  great  motive  powers  in  building  up  his  character 
and  life.  It  is  thus  an  entirely  new  work  that  we  have,  a  book 
entering  upon  a  wider  world  and  passing  into  larger  reaches  of 
art  and  life.  There  is  a  nicer  and  finer  sense  of  delicacy.  Amy 
announces  to  Mrs.  Falconer  in  the  garden  her  engagement,  and 
tells  of  John's  struggle  with  the  panther.  The  wound  from  the 
panther  both  conceals  and  emphasizes  the  infliction  of  the  deeper 
spiritual  wound.  The  parson's  visit  to  John  is  refined  and  the 
historical  undertone  deepened  and  strengthened.  Mrs.  Falconer 
brings  the  patient  the  Book,  and  henceforth  the  principles  of 
the  Book  take  the  place  of  the  hitherto  omnipresent  historic 
feeling.  The  pastor's  sermon  and  the  teacher's  address  on  the 
last  day  at  school  grow  more  earnest.  Even  more  significant 
are  the  changes  at  the  end.  In  "John  Gray"  there  is  feeling,  but 
no  love.  John  is  married  before  Major  Falconer's  death,  and 
the  youth  comes  as  a  joy  to  a  woman's  old  age.  In  the  new 
version  Major  Falconer  dies,  Mrs.  Falconer  waits,  and  John 
writes  —  her  feelings  are  not  given,  but  it  is  the  tragedy  of  life! 
The  characteristic  change  of  note  is  felt  in  the  dedication.  It 
was  "To  Her  and  Her  Memory;"  it  is  now  "To  My  Mother," 
whose  gentle,  inspiring  personality  could  well  have  been  the 
prototype  of  Mrs.  Falconer. 

The  two  women  change  gradually  and  imperceptibly,  but 
decidedly,  with  every  bringing  together.  "The  one  was  nine- 
teen— the  tulip :  with  springlike  charm  but  perfectly  hollow  and 
ready  to  be  filled  by  east  wind  or  west  wind,  north  wind  or 
south  wind,  according  as  each  blew  last  and  hardest ;  the  other 
thirty-six — the  rose:  in  its  midsummer  splendor  with  fold  upon 
fold  of  delicate  symmetric  structures,  making  a  masterpiece. " 
After  Mrs.  Falconer's  visit  to  John,  wounded  both  in  body  and 
in  spirit,  the  first  ray  of  difference  dawns:    "What  a  mother 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY  166 

she  would  have  been!"  and  later,  "What  a  wife  she  is!"  and 
after  she  has  gone,  "What  a  woman!" 

Then  enters  the  Book  of  Ideals  into  the  story:  "She  had  said 
he  should  have  read  this  book  long  before,  but  that  henceforth 
he  would  always  need  it  even  more  than  in  his  past:  that  here 
were  some  things  he  had  looked  for  in  the  world  and  had  never 
found;  characters  such  as  he  had  always  wished  to  grapple  to 
himself  as  his  abiding  comrades;  that  if  he  would  love  the  best 
that  it  loved,  hate  what  it  hated,  scorn  what  it  scorned,  it  would 
help  him  in  the  pursuit  of  his  own  ideals  to  the  end."  These 
ideals  were:  "Men  who  were  men,  .  .  .  men  who  were  gentle- 
men, and  .  .  .  gentlemen  who  served  the  unfallen  life  of  the 
spirit."  Their  conversation,  always  rather  prone  to  become  too 
serious  with  Mr.  Allen,  is  of  the  Greeks,  Romans,  and  Jews. 
There  is  not  a  word  of  Amy.  John's  mind  is  imperceptibly  led 
into  and  rests  in  other  channels.  But  the  wound  breaks  out 
afresh  in  Amy's  mischievous  interview  with  them  after  John  is 
well  enough  to  come  again  to  the  garden,  which,  rather  than  the 
house,  seems  the  natural  out-of-door  home  for  both  tulip  and 
rose.  The  tulip  has  already  lost  one  of  its  petals:  "Some 
women  begin  to  let  themselves  go  after  marriage;  some  after 
the  promise  of  marriage."  The  knowledge  of  her  engagement 
to  Joseph,  only  now  learned  by  John  from  her  own  lips,  reveals 
to  him  all  the  shallowness  of  her  nature. 

In  John's  farewell  with  Mrs.  Falconer  the  woman's  un- 
consciousness saves  her ;  she  still  supposes  the  wound  is  fresh 
for  Amy.  "Ah,  you  don't  begin  to  realize  how  much  you  are 
to  me!"  is  his  cry.  "Oh!"  comes  the  response,  and  later,  "I 
don't  understand."  Not  all  is  plain  in  the  delicacy  of  these 
portrayals  —  perhaps  not  all  can  be  made  plain,  and  words  and 
motives  must  affect  different  readers  differently  —  but  in  the 
main  the  portrayal  of  the  woman  is  clear.  The  parson  well  says 
of  her:  "She  holds  in  quietness  her  land  of  the  spirit; but  there 
are  battlefields  in  her  nature  that  fill  me  with  awe  by  their 
silence." 

In  some  ways  she  reminds  unconsciously  of  Lady  Esmond  in 
Thackeray's  historical    masterpiece.     Her    relations    to    her 


156  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY 

husband  are  suggested  in  the  slightest  hints;  they  are  in  little 
that  is  actual,  but  lie  in  the  spiritual  sphere.  But  the  in- 
timation is  plain  as  to  the  wearing  of  the  gentlewoman's  life  in 
the  wilderness.  As  with  Gabriella  in  "The  Reign  of  Law,"  the 
book  of  her  life  with  its  changing  phases  is  introduced.  It  is 
the  story  of  the  gentlewoman  of  that  day.  There  is  the  old 
Virginia  home,  for  which  she  always  longs;  the  memory  of 
bright  girlhood  days  in  Colonial  Virginia  before  the  separation 
from  the  mother  country;  the  coming  on  of  war;  the  political 
divisions  which  also  divide  family;  the  Revolution  itself;  the 
peace;  the  marriage  to  an  army  officer;  the  removal  West  for  the 
sake  of  lands  bestowed  by  a  generous  government  upon  its 
soldiers;  hardships  in  the  Kentucky  forest.  Such  were  the 
race  and  schooling  that  had  shaped  this  character,  a  character 
that  had  ripened  and  beautified  with  the  years. 

In  her  parting  from  John  Gray  she  had  held  out  to  him  all 
the  ideals  of  manhood,  for  in  having  put  into  his  hands  the  Book 
"out  of  her  own  purity  she  had  judged  him."  Thus  "it  is  the 
woman  who  bursts  the  whole  grape  of  sorrow  against  the 
irrepressible  palate  at  such  a  moment;  to  a  man  like  him  the 
same  grape  distills  a  vintage  of  yearning  that  will  brim  the  cup 
of  memory  many  a  time  beside  his  lamp  in  the  final  years." 
As  time  passed,  changes  came  into  her  life,  and  with  those 
changes  her  final  confession  to  herself  of  "her  love  of  him,  the 
belief  that  he  had  loved  her,"  which  "she,  until  this  night, 
had  never  acknowledged  to  herself."  "I  shall  understand  every- 
thing when  he  comes,"  her  first  thought,  shadowed  into  "I 
shall  go  softly  all  my  years."  "It  was  into  the  company  of 
these  quieter  pilgrims  that  she  had  passed:  she  had  missed 
happiness  twice."  "It  was  about  this  time  also  that  there  fell 
upon  her  hair  the  earliest  rays  of  that  light  which  is  the  dawn  of 
the  Eternal  Morning."  At  last  with  the  receding  years  came 
young  John,  and  came  the  letter,  and  with  it  the  revelation  she 
had  known  was  hers:  "If  I  have  kept  unbroken  faith  with  any 
of  mine,  thank  you  and  thank  God!" 

The  situation  and  the  action  have  been  objected  to.  Some 
have  found  them  even  immoral.     The  test  of  a  book  is  its  final 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY  167 

impression.  Are  the  ideals  ennobling  or  debasing?  Do  they 
lift  up  or  drag  down?  A  right-minded  man  cannot  but  be  awed 
into  reverence  as  he  feels  the  strugglings  of  human  nature 
carried  through  tenderly  and  yet  triumphantly,  with  truth  of 
circumstance  to  the  highest  in  self.  It  is  the  humanness  and 
the  humanity  of  the  story  which  make  the  strongest  appeal. 
Mr.  Allen  is  striving  to  come  nearer  to  the  divination  of  the 
human  soul,  to  apprehending  man  with  his  conflicts  and  con- 
tradictions and  his  truth.  Much  of  the  book  is  a  poem  in  prose, 
pulsating  with  the  sense  of  a  nation's  destiny  and  the  spiritual 
testing  of  individual  lives. 

"Men  and  women  could  love  together  seven  years  —  and 
then  was  love  truth  and  faithfulness." 

"In  the  country  of  the  Spirit  there  is  a  certain  high  table- 
land that  lies  far  on  among  the  outposts  toward  eternity.  .  .  . 
But  no  man  can  write  a  description  of  this  place  for  those  who 
have  never  trodden  it ;  by  those  who  have,  no  description  is 
desired;  their  fullest  speech  is  Silence." 

VII. 

The  two  opening  chapters  of  "The  Reign  of  Law,"  Mr.  Allen's 
latest  work,  possess  the  same  historic  consciousness  displayed 
in  "The  Choir  Invisible."  There  is  the  underlying  recognition  of 
the  part  the  settlement  of  Kentucky  has  played  in  the  develop- 
ment of  the  country  and  the  part  that  hemp  has  had  in  Ken- 
tucky's history.  There  is  also  the  keenest  sense  of  Nature  and 
the  expression  of  her  attributes  as  if  in  a  tumultuous  rush  — 
in  point  of  style,  a  profusion  of  epithets  cast  down  often  without 
the  necessary  predicate  —  the  more  benignant  law  of  the  seasons 
and  their  changes  portrayed  preparatory  to  a  story  wherein  man 
obedient  with  Nature  succumbs  to  the  Reign  of  Law.  For  "a 
round  year  of  the  earth's  changes  enters  into  the  creation  of  the 
hemp."  Far  from  being  unnecessary,  the  opening  prelude  on 
hemp  is  but  the  overture  to  the  wells  of  passion  following  like 
the  processes  of  the  tides  and  suns,  the  strains  of  which  are 
constantly  heard  through  the  entire  piece.  And  there  is  the 
same  apparent  contradiction,  yet  two-fold  aspect,  of  Nature  in 


168  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN:    A    STUDY 

the  book  —  the  poet's  combined  with  the  scientist's,  the  feminine 
correlated  with  the  masculine,  Gabriella's  at  last  united  with 
David's.  Nature  and  Life,  their  union  and  their  relation  — 
these  are  typified  by  the  hemp.  "Ah!  type,  too,  of  our  life, 
which  also  is  earth-sown,  earth-rooted;  which  must  struggle 
upward,  be  cut  down,  rotted  and  broken,  ere  the  separation 
take  place  between  our  dross  and  our  worth  —  poor  perishable 
shard  and  immortal  fiber.  O  the  mystery,  the  mystery  of  that 
growth  from  the  casting  of  the  soul  as  a  seed  into  the  dark 
earth,  until  the  time  when,  led  through  all  natural  changes  and 
cleansed  of  weakness,  it  is  borne  from  the  fields  of  its  nativity 
for  the  long  service !  " 

We  are  not  done  with  heredity  any  more  than  in  "Summer  in 
Arcady. ' '  The  opening  chapter,  catching  a  note  from  its  pre- 
decessor, is  on  religious  toleration,  wideness  of  appeal,  and 
openness  to  new  thought;  and  this  note  is  held  continuously 
throughout.  The  hero  is  the  descendant  of  the  pioneer  who 
built  a  church  on  the  edge  of  a  farm  that  there  might  be  therein 
freedom  of  worship  forever.  Sixty-five  years  later,  when  the 
scientific  and  philosophical  conceptions  of  the  latter  half  of  the 
nineteenth  century  furthered  by  Darwin  and  his  followers  had 
burst  upon  the  world,  he,  too,  with  his  stubborn  honesty  and 
pride,  would  have  acted  much  the  same  as  David.  The  in- 
dignant turning  of  this  progenitor  of  David's  upon  the  early 
congregation  is  of  the  same  spirit  as,  in  "Summer  in  Arcady," 
the  turning  of  Hilary  upon  Daphne's  father,  the  elder  who  had 
"expelled  him  from  the  Church."  It  must  be  remembered  that 
Middle  Kentucky  has  always  been  the  scene  of  peculiarly  fervent 
and  often  violent  religious  excitement  and  altercations. 

With  the  two  preludes,  one  of  Nature  and  the  other  of  History, 
the  story  opens  with  the  big,  raw-boned  boy  of  eighteen  cutting 
hemp  in  1865.  The  date  was  the  end  of  old  and  the  beginning 
of  new  things  in  Kentucky  and  everywhere  in  the  Southern 
States,  among  many  signs  being  the  opening  of  the  university 
at  Lexington  the  following  autumn.  It  was  the  day  of  rev- 
olutions, of  new  expansions  and  undertakings,  new  directions 
of  activity  and  thought  in  the  South  specifically  and  in  the  world 


JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY  159 

generally.  These  two  movements,  the  local  and  the  world-wide, 
Mr.  Allen  seeks  to  bring  together.  "For  some  years  this 
particular  lad,  this  obscure  item  in  Nature's  plan  which  always 
passes  understanding,  had  been  growing  more  unhappy  in  his 
place  in  creation."  A  certain  birth,  a  farm  and  its  tasks,  a 
country  neighborhood  and  its  narrowness — what  more  are  these 
often  than  the  starting  point  for  a  young  life  groping  for  the 
world  beyond,  of  which  it  is  as  yet  ignorant  ? 

The  introduction  of  the  university  and  the  Bible  College  is 
again  as  the  outcome  of  a  century  of  tradition.  It  is  unfortunate 
that  the  time  and  place  are  both  so  near;  but  they  are  as  neces- 
sary for  the  author's  story  as  the  breath  for  life.  The  educational 
ideals  expressed  and  hoped  for  many  have  held  and  none  has  been 
able  wholly  to  achieve ;  a  position  halfway  between  North  and 
South,  an  institution  oflearning  with  no  politics,  based  upon  broad 
ideas  and  at  the  same  time  religious.  Ideals  far  ahead  of  what  has 
ever  actually  been  realized !  It  seems  this  must  be  the  case,  and 
cannot  be  escaped.  The  sensitiveness  to  the  criticism  is,  there- 
fore, natural,  but  the  failure  has  been  unquestionable. 

Heredity  plays  a  part  in  a  second  way.  The  inexorable 
father  never  understands  the  son  so  much  like  him.  "If  I  had 
only  had  a  son  to  have  been  proud  of !  "  he  cries.  "It  isn't  in 
him  to  take  an  education."  This  misunderstanding  while  still 
on  the  same  level  of  life  and  plane  of  thought  must  become 
emphasized  when  the  boy's  enthusiasms  and  studies  have  carried 
him  quite  beyond  his  father's  point  of  view.  The  decision  to  go 
to  college  and  to  become  a  preacher  was  the  result  of  the  lad's 
first  awakening,  a  habit  of  resolution  and  change  already  begun. 
That  change  and  the  innate  honesty  of  his  character  with  the 
habit  of  thinking  for  himself  and  reaching  his  own  conclusions, 
meant  that  other  changes  were  to  follow  in  after  years.  Stress 
is  laid  on  the  fact  that  he  "was  nearer  the  first  century  and  yet 
earlier  ages  than  the  nineteenth.  He  knew  more  of  prophets 
and  apostles  than  modern  doctors  of  divinity."  With  such 
premises  there  cannot  escape  being  a  case  of  evolution. 
Between  old  life  and  antiquated  conceptions  and  new  life  and 
living  ideas  there  must  grow  a  schism. 


160  JAMES    LANE    ALLEN:    A    STUDY 

If  in  "The  White  Cowl"  and  "Sister  Dolorosa"  Mr.  Allen  felt 
that  a  rigid  religious  brotherhood  and  a  secluded  sisterhood  could 
trample  on  the  springs  of  human  nature,  in  David's  case  it  is 
the  excesses  and  bigotry  of  an  extreme  Protestantism  without 
intelligent  sympathy  for  the  boy's  nature  and  the  human  nature 
he  represents  that  provoke  the  rupture.  His  inherited  traits 
are  shown  in  his  going  to  the  courthouse  in  Lexington  and 
reading  the  deed  of  his  great-grandfather  granting  a  church  as 
free  to  Romanist  as  to  Protestant.  A  youth  with  such  a  man's 
blood  surging  in  his  veins  could  not  shut  out  new  experiences 
and  new  truths.  He  was  curious  to  see  and  hear  a  Catholic 
priest;  he  wished  to  visit  a  Jewish  synagogue;  he  wanted  to  get 
the  point  of  view  of  Churches  of  every  creed.  The  nature  of 
his  mind  was  one  of  enlargement;  he  could  not  limit  himself  to 
one  idea  without  futher  inquiry.  This  tendency  must  have  its 
natural  results  according  as  directed  or  misdirected. 

The  pastor  of  his  own  church  preached  "a  series  of  sermons 
on  errors  in  the  faith  and  practice  of  the  different  Protestant 
sects,"  treading  on  very  delicate  ground  for  delicate  souls.  The 
result  for  one  of  David's  temper  could  have  been  foreseen. 
The  night  after  the  first  sermon  this  particular  young  man  had 
a  seat  at  that  other  church  which  had  been  riddled.  It  was  a 
rift  in  the  life  of  the  human  soul  which  ultimately  had  to  widen 
with  his  nature  into  a  great  breach.  The  case  of  the  Churches 
may  be  exaggerated  for  the  purposes  of  the  story;  there 
were  many  wiser  men  than  these  preachers ;  and  yet  it  will 
readily  be  admitted  that  not  so  many  years  ago  sermons  of  the 
sort  were  rehearsed  and  sought  after,  one  body  of  Christians 
arraying  itself  sternly  against  another.  This  could  not  fail  to 
bewilder  impressionable  hearts  and  repel  thinking  minds. 
Naturally  David's  religious  peace  was  disturbed.  "The  con- 
stant discussion  of  some  dogma  and  disproof  of  some  dogma 
inevitably  begets  in  a  certain  order  of  mind  the  temper  to  dis- 
cuss and  distrust  all  dogma."  The  division  into  Northern  and 
Southern  Churches  within  the  same  denomination,  each  intoler- 
ant of  the  other,  while  apparently  slowly  disappearing  in  a  new 
century,  was  directly  after  the  War  more  than  usually  acrimo- 


JAMES  LANE  ALLEN:  A  STUDY        161 

nious.  The  methods,  too,  of  analyzing  the  Bible  hurt  David. 
"The  mysterious,  untouched  Christ-feeling  was  in  him  so  strong 
that  he  shrank  from  these  critical  analyses  as  he  would  from 
dissecting  the  body  of  the  crucified  Redeemer."  In  David's 
interview  the  pastor  seems  rough,  unsympathetic,  and  blind ; 
yet  it  could  have  occurred,  for  there  are  such  men  in  the 
Churches,  although  we  know  all  are  by  no  means  so. 

The  catechism  scene  is  a  strong  one,  and  with  the  growing 
knowledge  and  wider  toleration  of  to-day  it  almost  seems  that  it 
could  hardly  be  possible.  But  we  know  such  experiences  were 
common  with  the  recreant  in  the  days  of  the  Church  militant,  if 
not  so  still.  The  heartiest  sympathies  go  out  to  the  agonizing 
soul  of  an  honest  man  doubting.  "  'I  am  in  trouble! '  he  cried, 
sitting  down  again.  *I  don't  know  what  to  believe.  I  don't 
know  what  I  do  believe.  My  God! '  he  cried  again,  burying  his 
face  in  his  hands.  'I  believe  I  am  beginning  to  doubt  the  Bible. 
Great  God,  what  am  I  coming  to?  What  is  my  life  coming  to? 
Me  doubt  the  Bible! '  "  Denominational  ism  run  mad!  is  what 
Mr.  Allen  sees,  although  it  be  possibly  in  his  own  denomination 
and  college.  But  this  has  kept  Kentucky  and  many  another 
state  and  section  from  achieving  their  due  educationally.  For 
it  must  be  essentially  true.  "True  learning  always  stands  for 
peace.  Letters  always  stand  for  peace."  This  man  could  have 
been  saved.  It  was  a  worn-out  form  of  belief  and  practice  that 
he  had  fallen  upon;  and  if  he  could  have  been  saved,  then  he 
still  may  be  saved  and  is  worth  the  saving.  This  is  suggested 
clearly,  and  is  the  central  thought  of  the  second  part  of  the 
volume,  as  much  as  Faust's  redemption  is  the  subject  of  Part  II 
of  Goethe's  great  poem. 

Fault  may  be  found  in  the  structure  of  the  book  that  the  true 
story  rests  in  the  first  half  with  the  catastrophe.  There  the 
book  could  have  ended,  and  would  have  ended,  did  Mr.  Allen 
belong  exclusively  to  the  realists.  But  there  was  the  spiritual 
awakening  of  Hilary  in  "Summer  in  A  ready " ;  there  was  the 
moral  strengthening  of  John  Gray  in  "The  Choir  Invisible," 
where  also  a  new  element  enters  and  a  new  story  begins;  and 
there  is  the  struggling  for  any  light  in  David,     An.  old  creed 


162        JAMES  LANE  ALLEN:  A  STUDY 

was  outworn;  a  new  one  to  suit  the  age  and  the  man,  it  is  surely 
intimated,  will  be  found  for  the  struggler  by  means  of  the 
eternal   feminine  —  Goethe's  das  ewig  weibliche. 

And  yet,  while  all  this  seems  true  as  to  purpose,  it  is  just  as 
true,  like  Goethe's  "Faust"  again,  that  in  point  of  construction 
of  plot  the  human  interest  is  the  awful  struggle  of  the  human 
soul.  The  real  book  to  most  readers  will  still  end  with  the 
climax  and  catastrophe,  as  the  boy  leaves  college  and  goes  to  his 
father  and  mother  and  the  home  left  two  years  ago. 

As  he  approaches,  the  remembrance  of  each  familiar  spot  and 
scene  wells  up  in  him.  "Crows  about  the  corn  shocks,  flying 
leisurely  to  the  stake-and-ridered  fence,  there  alighting  with 
their  tails  pointing  toward  him  and  their  heads  turned  sideways 
over  one  shoulder;  but  soon  presenting  their  breasts,  seeing  he 
did  not  hunt.  The  solitary  caw  of  one  of  them  —  that  thin, 
indifferent  comment  of  their  sentinel,  perched  on  the  silver-gray 
twig  of  a  sycamore.  In  another  field  the  startled  flutter  of  field 
larks  from  pale-yellow  bushes  of  ground-apple.  Some  boys  out 
rabbit  hunting  in  the  holidays,  with  red  cheeks  and  gay  woolen 
comforts  around  their  hot  necks  and  jeans  jackets  full  of  Spanish 
needles,  one  shouldering  a  gun,  one  carrying  a  game  bag,  one 
eating  an  apple;  a  pack  of  dogs,  and  no  rabbit.  The  winter 
brooks,  trickling  through  banks  of  frozen  grass  and  broken 
reeds,  their  clear  brown  water  sometimes  open,  sometimes 
covered  with  figured  ice.  Red  cattle  in  one  distant  wood, 
moving  tender-footed  around  the  edge  of  a  pond.  The  fall  of  a 
forest  tree  sounding  distinct  amid  the  reigning  stillness,  felled 
for  cord  wood.  And  in  one  field  —  right  there  before  him !  — 
sound  of  busy  hemp  brakes  and  the  sight  of  negroes,  one  singing 
a  hymn.     O  the  memories,  the  memories!" 

And  then  comes  the  blow!  "Father,  I  have  been  put  out  of 
college  and  expelled  from  the  Church."  "For  What?"  "I  do 
not  believe  the  Bible  any  longer.  I  do  not  believe  in  Christi- 
anity." "Why  have  you  come  back  here?  ....  O,  I  always 
knew  there  was  nothing  in  you!  "  It  was  a  blow  given  and  a 
blow  returned ! 

The  presence  of  Nature  is  still  everywhere.     The  storm  ap- 


JAMES  LANE  ALLEN:  A  STUDY        163 

proaching  at  the  beginning  gives  the  figure  carried  out  into 
the  farthest  detail.  It  is  Nature  that  awakens  David  to  new 
conceptions  of  law  like  the  sap  stirring  in  spring.  He  beholds 
"familiar  objects  as  with  eyes  more  clearly  opened;  when 
the  neutral  becomes  the  decisive,  when  the  sermon  is  found  in 
the  stone."  The  scrubby  locust  bush  covered  with  the  wash 
beneath  his  window  is  "one  of  those  uncomplaining  asses  of  the 
vegetable  kingdom  whose  mission  in  life  is  to  carry  whatever 
man  imposes."  "These  two  simple  things  —  the  locust  leaves, 
touched  by  the  sun,  shaken  by  the  south  wind;  the  dandelion 
shining  in  the  grass  —  awoke  in  him  the  whole  vision  of  the 
spring  now  rising  anew  out  of  the  earth,  all  over  the  land :  great 
Nature!"  The  author's  special  favorites,  the  birds,  are  again 
prominent — not  the  cardinal,  but  the  crow,  blackbird,  quail, 
dove,  and  pigeon. 

David's  mental  struggles  have  their  counter-type  in  the  pro- 
cesses of  Nature.  "There  is  a  sort  of  land  which  receives  in 
autumn,  year  by  year,  the  deposit  of  its  own  dead  leaves  and 
weeds  and  grasses  without  either  the  winds  and  waters  to  clear 
these  away  or  the  soil  to  reabsorb  and  reconvert  them  into  the 
materials  of  reproduction.  Thus  year  by  year  the  land  tends 
farther  toward  sterility  by  the  very  accumulation  of  what  was 
once  its  life.  But  send  a  forest  fire  across  those  smothering 
strata  of  vegetable  decay;  give  once  more  a  chance  for  every 
root  below  to  meet  the  sun  above,  for  every  seed  above  to  reach 
the  ground  below;  soon  again  the  barren  will  be  the  fertile,  the 
desert  blossom  as  the  rose.     It  is  so  with  the  human  mind." 

David's  trial  before  the  college  faculty  is  pictured  with  an 
eloquence  worthy  of  De  Quincey  summoning  the  Bishop  of 
Beauvais  before  the  tribunal  where  Joan  of  Arc  shall  be  witness 
for  him:  "Old,  old  scene  in  the  history  of  man,  the  trial  of  his 
Doubt  by  his  Faith:  strange  day  of  judgment,  when  one  half  of 
the  human  spirit  arraigns  and  condemns  the  other  half." 
The  author  again  breaks  beyond  the  narrow  bounds  of  the  local 
and  passes  into  the  realms  of  the  universal.  What  though  the 
scene  be  laid  in  an  inland  college  town  of  Kentucky,  the 
questions  are  those  which  thrill  and  challenge  mankind, 


164        JAMES  LANE  ALLEN:  A  STUDY 

But  Mr.  Allen  cannot  be  content  with  negation  or  destruction. 
He  feels  there  is  something  positive  beyond,  more  to  be  ex- 
perienced and  more  to  learn  in  the  essay  after  truth.  With  the 
dramatic  end  of  one  story  another  immediately  begins.  Put 
upon  the  stage,  the  action  would  end  here.  But  while  dramatic- 
ally the  climax  has  been  passed,  yet  for  the  removal  of  the  sense 
of  incompleteness  a  conclusion  must  be  added.  Out  of  the  ashes 
of  the  old  life  and  the  old  faith  a  new  structure  is  to  rise  —  a 
dwelling  spot  for  love,  which  must  bring  forth  ultimately  the  best 
sort  of  life  and  the  highest,  because  rational,  ideals  of  faith. 
The  story  fills  three  hundred  and  eighty- five  pages,  and  the  first 
reference  to  the  second  important  character  who  thenceforth 
dominates  the  book,  is  on  page  225 :  "David's  college  experience 
had  effected  the  first  great  change  in  him  as  he  passed  from  youth 
to  manhood ;  Gabriella  had  wrought  the  second. ' '  Absorbed  with 
the  soul  struggle,  not  a  word  of  Gabriella  hitherto ! 

And  who  is  Gabriella  ?  The  author  must  go  back,  and,  un- 
necessarily almost,  tell  of  a  first  meeting,  or  at  least  seeing,  at 
the  time  of  the  college  days  in  Lexington.  The  volume  of 
Gabriella's  life  must  be  unrolled.  It  was  a  life  such  as  many 
another  had  suffered,  and  it  had  brought  spiritual  exaltation. 
Gabriella  was  fourteen  when  the  war  broke  out.  There  were  the 
changes  in  the  social  life  in  the  South  and  in  Kentucky  wrought 
by  the  war,  the  decay  of  the  old  fabric,  and  the  wrecking  of 
families  and  lives,  and  then  the  spiritual  as  well  as  the  physical 
building  up  and  adjustment  to  the  new  order.  The  description 
forms  a  detached  idyl  in  the  book.  "O  ye  who  have  young 
children,  if  possible  give  them  happy  memories!  Fill  their 
earliest  years  with  bright  pictures!  A  great  historian  many 
centuries  ago  wrote  it  down  that  the  first  thing  conquered  in  battle 
are  the  eyes:  the  soldier  flees  from  what  he  sees  before  him. 
But  so  often  in  the  world's  fight  we  are  defeated  by  what  we 
look  back  upon ;  we  are  whipped  in  the  end  by  the  things  we 
saw  in  the  beginning  of  life.  The  time  arrived  for  Gabriella 
when  the  gorgeous  fairy  tale  of  her  childhood  was  all  that  she 
had  to  sustain  her,  when  it  meant  consolation,  courage,  forti- 
tude, victory." 


JAMES  LANE  ALLEN:  A  STUDY        166 

Only  one  false  note  is  struck,  in  the  specific  mention  of  New 
England,  "as  respects  the  original  traffic  in  human  souls." 
The  shadow  of  controversy  has  no  place  here. 

The  bringing  together  of  the  lives  of  this  man  and  this  woman 
is  effected :  the  mutual  influences  of  the  elements  of  strength 
and  weakness  that  have  gone  to  make  up  both,  the  support  each 
can  offer,  the  demands  each  must  make.  The  contrast  is 
wrought  between  their  different  sorts  of  faith  and  their  different 
natures  and  needs,  and  the  conquering  of  neither  one  wholly, 
but  a  strengthening  union  of  both,  will  be  Nature's  outcome. 

There  are  many  fine  passages  in  this  latter  portion:  the  sleet 
and  snow  storm,  the  care  for  the  cattle,  the  life  on  the  farm,  the 
inborn  sympathy  between  man  and  other  animal  creatures,  a 
newer  and  wider  interpretation  of  Nature's  aspects  and  pro- 
cesses, not  as  of  some  direct  intention  toward  man,  but  as 
"small  incidents  in  the  long  history  of  the  planet's  atmosphere 
and  changing  surface."  The  love-making  is  inclined  to  become 
too  didactic,  a  discussion  of  dogmas  and  of  new  beliefs  and 
theories  in  place  of  old  ones,  and  Gabriella  is  in  some  danger  of 
being  a  "patient  Griselda"  to  the  demands  of  this  unconscious 
but  natural  egotist.  Many  a  weary  hour  she  will  have  to  pass 
before  he  tortuously  works  himself  to  an  understanding  with  her. 
It  is  a  pity  that  the  exigencies  of  the  development  of  the  changes 
in  belief  must  give  space  thus  far  to  the  discussion  of  many 
theories.  Artistically  it  is  a  blemish,  and  is  to  be  defended  only 
on  the  ground  that  otherwise  the  actions  of  David  might  seem 
obscure  or  illogical.  Like  "Aftermath,"  this  part  is  an  epilogue 
to  a  previous  story,  and  will  have  its  fine  points,  but  cannot 
sustain  the  same  interest.  And  yet  the  everlasting  truth  is 
gradually  unrolled  that  it  is  the  patience  and  tenderness  and 
faith  of  woman  whereby  man  at  length  finds  spiritual  regenera- 
tion and  salvation. 

If  Mr.  Allen's  change  of  title  in  his  English  edition,  "The 
Increasing  Purpose,"  did  not  indicate  this,  it  would  be  revealed 
in  the  last  bit  of  conversation  vouchsafed  in  the  book.  Surely 
the  meaning  is  clear:  "Ah,  Gabriella,  it  is  love  that  makes  man 
believe  in  a  God  of  Love!"     "David!     Davidl" — A  way  to  a 


166        JAMES  LANE  ALLEN:  A  STUDY 

higher  and  purer  faith  and  conduct  of  life  is  implied.  Only  a 
description  and  a  reflection  are  added  —  of  the  hemp,  the  real 
pervasive  element  in  the  whole  book,  and  the  emblem  of  man's 
life  directed  toward  beneficent  ends: 

"The  south  wind,  warm  with  the  first  thrill  of  summer,  blew 
from  across  the  valley,  from  across  the  mighty  rushing  sea  of  the 
young  hemp. 

"O  Mystery  Immortal!  which  is  in  the  hemp  and  in  our  souls, 
in  its  bloom  and  in  our  passions ;  by  which  our  poor,  brief  lives 
are  led  upward  out  of  the  earth  for  a  season,  then  cut  down, 
rotted  and  broken  —  for  Thy  long  service!  " 


Note. — A  new  work  by  Mr.  Allen,  "The  Mettle  of  the  Pasture,"  or,  as  it 
was  at  first  called,  "  Crypts  of  the  Heart" — for  Mr.  Allen  ponders  long  over, 
and  is  easily  dissatisfied  with,  his  titles — has  been  announced  by  the  publishers 
since  the  above  was  written,  but  has  not  appeared  in  time  to  be  included  in 
this  discussion.  It  will  be  interesting  to  the  writer  of  these  pages  to  know 
how  far  this  new  volume  of  Mr.  Allen's  bears  out  or  controverts  some  of  the 
judgments  here  expressed. 


VI. 

English  Studies  in  the  South 


Reprinted  from  "  The  South  in  the  Building  of  the  Nation,"  Volume 

VII,  by  permission  of  the  Southern  Historical 

Publication  Society,  Richmond.    1909 


ENGLISH  STUDIES  IN  THE  SOUTH 

BEFORE  the  War  between  the  States — that  great  dividing 
line  which  separates  every  current  of  thought,  historical, 
political,  social,  and  necessarily,  too,  educational, — the  special 
study  of  English,  in  any  systematic  way,  was  neglected  in  most 
Southern  schools,  as,  in  fact,  pretty  nearly  everywhere  in  our 
country. 

Not  that  composition  and  the  critical  study  ol  English  style 
were  altogether  wanting;  but  what  little  training  in  English  was 
given,  was  more  in  the  line  of  a  seeming  digression,  and  was 
classified  in  most  college  catalogues  —  when,  indeed,  catalogues 
were  published  —  as  "rhetoric  and  belles-lettres."  What  gram- 
mar was  learned  was  acquired  through  the  medium  of  Latin, 
by  no  means  a  bad,  but  sometimes  a  misleading,  expedient  A 
course  of  rhetoric  was  associated  in  some  way  with  logic  (the 
latter  being  treated  very  much  as  a  form  of  grammar),  and 
in  favored  localities  the  professor  of  metaphysics  was  detailed 
to  take  charge  of  this  division  in  the  educational  forces.  The 
first  two  years  of  a  college  course  were  devoted  wholly  to  the 
three  studies,  Latin,  Greek  and  Mathematics.  This  was  so  far 
modified  in  the  third,  or  junior  year  that  a  place  was  made  for  a 
class  in  the  physical  (or  natural)  sciences.  Finally,  in  the  senior 
year,  the  principal  feature  was  the  lectures  on  metaphysics  by 
the  college  president  Sometimes,  as  in  old  Washington  College, 
Virginia,  this  last  year  was  formally  called  the  'English'  or 
'rhetorical'  year,  as  special  attention  was  given  to  what  were 
then  termed  the  'English'  branches.  These  were  crowned 
with  the  course  in  'belles-lettres,'  which  was  evidently  intended 
as  a  finishing  off  or  rubbing  down  process,  and  under  this  foreign 
appellation,  always  a  little  vague  and  mystifying  as  to  its  exact 
meaning,  was  supposed  to  lurk  the  idea  of  the  formal  study  of 
rhetoric  (Blair's  or  Campbell's  "Rhetoric"  and  Karnes's  "Ele- 
ments of  Criticism"  were  long  favorite  text-books),  and  of  litera- 
ture, especially  in  its  flowery  phases.     The  old-time  orations  and 


170  ENGLISH    STUDIES    IN    THE    SOUTH 

methods  in  essay  writing — all  traces  of  which  have  not  yet  dis- 
appeared in  the  South  —  give  perhaps  the  best  evidence  as  to 
the  nature  of  this  work. 

In  most  institutions — and  these  were  by  no  means  the 
least  conspicuous  —  the  chair  of  metaphysics  was  tendered  to 
the  gentlemen  of  the  clergy  ('  moral  philosophy'  par  excellence, 
they  naturally  called  it),  and  the  conduct  of  the  classes  in 
'rhetoric  and  belles-lettres'  of  course  went  with  it.  It  seemed 
to  be  a  prevailing  notion  that  the  man  who  could  preach  to  the 
community  on  Sundays  was  peculiarly  fitted  for  expounding 
the  laws  of  thought  and  extracting  the  beauties  of  literature  on 
week  days.  Once  upon  a  time,  indeed,  this  was  true.  The 
system  was  a  relic,  in  part,  of  the  pioneer  days,  when  the 
preacher  was  missionary  in  a  manifold  sense — the  one  repre- 
sentative of  letters,  culture  and  higher  aspirations  in  the  vicinity. 
He  was  preacher  and  teacher  both,  perhaps  even  more  of  the 
latter  than  of  the  former.  But,  naturally,  in  a  later  period  of 
development,  under  such  a  system,  not  only  the  study  of 
philosophy,  but  especially  that  of  English,  suffered,  being  not 
even  secondary,  but  entirely  minor  in  consideration. 

The  letters  and  style  emphasized  were  primarily  the  highly 
ornamental  or  what  is  known  technically  as  the  'rhetorical' — 
those  which  suited  best  the  graces  of  the  Southern  orator, 
whether  he  chose  to  imitate  his  teacher  and  become  a  pulpit 
speaker,  or  preferred  to  follow  the  profession  of  the  law,  and 
develop  in  due  time,  as  was  his  natural  ambition,  into  a  noble 
statesman  of  the  republic. 

I  would  not  appear  to  speak  slightingly  of  older  methods  of 
education,  when  we  are  still  so  much  at  sea  as  to  what  is 
soundest  and  best  and  most  expedient.  The  minds  trained 
under  older  systems  were  of  undoubted  and  uncommon  vigor, 
serving  well  the  needs  of  their  particular  day  and  sphere. 
But  those  needs  were  then  fewer,  the  conditions  of  life  seem- 
ingly less  complex.  This  or  that  system  may  not  meet  the 
demands  of  our  day;  that  is  one  thing.  But  that  it  did 
not  produce  strong  men,  cultivated  men,  literary  men  (as 
the  times  allowed),  perhaps  as  efficiently  as  our  more  boasted 


ENGLISH    STUDIES    IN    THE    SOUTH  171 

methods,  is  still  to  be  determined  by  the  measurement  of 
actual   results. 

Perhaps,  at  the  time  this  fashion  of  thus  disposing  of  the 
English  classes  came  into  vogue,  it  was  the  best  possible;  and 
many  of  those  teachers  of  the  old  regime  were  men  endowed 
with  a  love  for  good  reading,  moved  by  the  study  of  the  best 
models,  and  easily  capable  of  stirring  the  fresh  minds  of  the 
crude  youths  in  their  classes.  I  look  back  with  peculiar  pleasure 
upon  my  own  experience  with  one  of  these  —  the  late  Rev.  Dr. 
Whitefoord  Smith,  a  noted  Charleston  divine  in  former  days, 
who  was  for  a  number  of  years  a  professor  in  Wofford  College. 
I  became  a  member  of  one  of  the  last  classes  this  aged  and 
worthy  gentlemen  ever  had  the  strength  to  instruct  and  his 
enthusiasm  and  the  glowing  eulogies  he  bestowed  upon  his 
favorite  authors  and  passages  inspired  not  a  few  among  his 
pupils  with  a  love  for  reading,  and  gave  them  many  practical 
hints  where  to  go  for  good  books  and  what  books  were  good. 

The  president  of  the  same  institution,  Dr.  Carlisle,  used  to 
give  up  a  portion  of  his  time  with  his  Freshman  Class  regularly 
every  Friday  afternoon,  in  order  to  ask  each  one  of  us  what  he 
had  been  reading  and  had  become  interested  in.  Probably  we 
may  have  acquired  less  formal  mathematics  in  actual  amount  as 
the  result,  and  should  not  now  be  able  to  demonstrate  any  of 
those  geometrical  propositions  we  were  sent  to  the  blackboard 
to  work  on.  But  the  habit  had  the  rare  merit  of  broadening 
the  narrow  limits  and  interests  of  a  rigid  college  curriculum ; 
many  of  the  suggestive  thoughts  let  drop  have  been  treasured 
up  and  have  constantly  borne  fruit,  and  I  am  sure  that  we  went 
to  the  meeting  of  our  debating  societies  on  the  same  evening 
better  prepared  to  get  and  make  more  out  of  them.  I  mention 
these  details,  apparently  trivial,  because  they  show  fairly  well 
the  extent  and  nature  of  the  English  courses  in  our  colleges  up 
to  a  very  few  years  ago — and  it  was  not  every  college  that  was 
so  fortunate  as  to  have  chairs  filled  by  marked  personalities  like 
Dr.  James  H.  Carlisle  and  Dr.  Whitefoord  Smith.  I  suspect, 
too,  that  the  students  of  the  smaller  colleges  often  fared  better 
even    than  those  of  the  more  formal  state  universities,  where 


172  ENGLISH    STUDIES    IN    THE    SOUTH 

there  was  not  the  same   free,  personal  contact,   which    is   the 
greatest  factor  in  college  formative  influence. 

A  good  deal  may  be  said  in  support  of  the  claim  that 
English  studies  received  at  first  more  distinct  recognition  and 
emphasis  in  Virginia  than  elsewhere  in  the  South.  Virginia,  as 
the  oldest  of  colonies  and  mother  of  states,  has  been  the  leader 
in  education,  and  her  English  affinities  and  traditions,  com- 
paratively unchanged  by  mixture  with  foreign  elements,  seem 
to  have  emphasized  not  a  little  the  love  for  English  classical 
literature  specifically,  and  the  more  exact  study  and  use  of  the 
parent  tongue.  Her  three  oldest  colleges  (and  they  are  likewise 
the  oldest  in  the  Southern  States)  give  evidence  of  this  spirit. 
The  College  of  William  and  Mary  was  founded  under  the 
patronage  of  the  Bishop  of  London,  and,  in  direct  imitation  of 
English  models,  emphasized  the  study  of  the  'humanities' — 
borrowing  the  term  from  English  nomenclature  —  and  her 
linguistic  studies,  mainly  classical,  were  always  directed  to  this 
end.  Later,  Hampden-Sidney  and  Washington  colleges  (the 
latter  now  Washington  and  Lee  University)  were  established 
almost  simultaneously  under  Presbyterian  influence,  and 
patterned,  naturally,  after  the  Princeton  model  of  those  days. 
In  the  prospectus  of  the  former,  dated  September  I,  1775,  the 
debt  was  frankly  acknowledged,  with  the  explicit  proviso  only, 
that  more  attention  should  be  given  to  English  studies. 

The  first  interest  in  historical  English  work  in  America  was 
the  offspring  of  the  fertile  brain  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  constantly 
active,  always  investigating,  and  making  some  experiment  or 
other.  He  acquired  as  a  law  student  an  enthusiasm  for  the 
study  of  Anglo-Saxon,  and  continued  its  advocacy  as  a  definite 
part  of  the  college  curriculum  from  1779,  when  he  was  a 
member  of  the  board  for  William  and  Mary,  until  1825,  when 
the  wishes  of  a  lifetime  were  at  last  realized  by  the  opening  of 
his  pet  creation,  the  University  of  Virginia.  Jefferson  had 
actually  written  out,  seven  years  before,  what  is  now  a  curious 
synopsis  of  an  Anglo-Saxon  grammar  with  specimen  extracts, 
for  his  new  institution;  and  this  was  the  first  formal  incorporation 
of  a  course  in  historical  English  in  an  Ameriean  university,  how- 


ENGLISH    STUDIES    IN    THE    SOUTH  178 

ever  meagre  and  defective  a  course  of  one  or  two  hours  a  week 
in  itself  was. 

It  was  likewise  another  Virginian,  Louis  P.  Klipstein,  a 
graduate  of  Hampden-Sidney  College,  who,  somehow  or  other, 
got  over  to  a  German  university,  and,  in  order  to  show  his 
interest  in  the  subject,  as  early  as  the  forties  began  the  publi- 
cation of  the  first  Anglo-Saxon  texts  in  America — the  Gospels, 
and  two  volumes  of  selections,  besides  a  grammar;  but  it  must 
be  added  that  scholars  in  our  day  pronounce  them  uncritical, 
and  those  of  his  own  left  them  to  lie  cold  on  his  hands  to  be 
disposed  of  in  presentation  copies  to  his  friends.  The  truth  is, 
it  was  too  early  for  text-books  in  Anglo-Saxon  in  America, 
whether  good  or  bad. 

Jefferson  made  it  a  condition  that  the  occupant  of  the  chair  of 
modern  languages  in  the  University  of  Virginia  should  be  an 
expert  in  the  study  of  the  early  forms  of  English.  Two  scholars, 
both  secured  from  abroad,  filled  this  chair  during  virtually  the 
first  seventy  years  of  its  existence :  George  Blattermann,  from 
1825  to  1840,  and  M.  Scheie  De  Vere  after  1844.  There  was 
a  slight  interregnum  between  the  two,  and  the  gap  of  one  or 
two  years  was  filled  by  Charles  Kraitsir,  a  curious,  all-knowing 
gentleman,  who  (at  least  so  states  the  catalogue)  boldly  offered 
instruction  not  only  in  the  whole  realm  of  the  Teutonic  and 
Romance  languages,  but  also  in  the  Slavic  and  even  Magyar 
tongues.  During  the  long  career  (1844- 1895)  of  Professor 
Scheie  De  Vere  as  professor  in  the  University  of  Virginia  he 
certainly  touched  more  teachers  of  language  and  literature  than 
any  one  man  in  the  South,  and  perhaps  in  the  whole  country. 
A  very  incomplete  list  would  contain  the  names  of  Edward  S. 
Joynes,  Henry  E.  Shepherd,  Crawford  H.  Toy,  Thomas  R.  Price, 
James  M.  Garnett,  Rhodes  Massie,  Thomas  Hume,  James  A. 
Harrison,  Richard  H.  Willis,  Edward  A.  Allen,  Henry  C.  Brock, 
Alcee  Fortier,  John  R.  Ficklen,  Walter  D.  Toy,  F.  M.  Page,  C. 
W.  Kent,  W.  H.  Perkinson,  J.  D.  Bruce  and  W.  P.  Trent 

As  regards  general  instruction  in  English,  however,  the  Uni- 
versity of  Virginia  fared  no  better  than  any  other  institution. 
Such  formal  instruction  as  could  be  given  was  left  to  the  tender 


174  ENGLISH    STUDIES    IN    THE    SOUTH 

mercies  of  the  professor  of  moral  philosophy.  It  was  not  till 
after  1857  that  this  much-abused  servant  of  letters  was  relieved, 
and  the  subjects  of  rhetoric  and  literature  were  transferred  to  the 
department  of  history,  just  established.  This  marked  the  period 
of  McGuffey's  "Readers"  and  Holmes's  "Histories"  conceived 
for  school  purposes  by  the  occupants  of  these  two  chairs,  books 
which  have  not  yet  totally  disappeared  from  our  public  schools. 
A  distinct  chair  of  English  language  and  literature  was  first 
created  in  1882,  and  was  filled  until  1896  by  James  M. 
Garnett,  the  translator  of  Beowulf,  then  principal  of  St.  John's 
College,  Maryland.  The  logical  development  was  still  further 
extended  in  1893,  when  through  private  munificence  the  sub- 
jects of  rhetoric  and  English  literature  were  definitely  awarded 
a  separate  foundation  of  their  own,  and  Charles  W.  Kent  was 
called  for  this  purpose  from  the  University  of  Tennessee.  In 
1896  the  English  language  and  German  were  combined  in  one 
chair,  whose  incumbent  was  known  as  professor  of  the  Teutonic 
languages.  This  new  chair  has  been  filled  ever  since  its  for- 
mation by  James  A.  Harrison,1  the  well-known  editor  and  bi- 
ographer of  Poe,  and  professor  of  Romance  languages  in  the 
university  from  1895  to  1898.  It  should  be  remarked,  how- 
ever, that  in  1896 — on  Garnett's  leaving  the  university — Har- 
rison had  taken  charge  of  the  instruction  in  English  language. 
Such  has  been  the  history  of  the  development  of  the  study 
of  English  at  the  one  institution  commonly  recognized  as  the 
most  prominent  of  all  Southern  state  universities.  She  in- 
fluenced those  of  other  states  by  her  principle  of  election  in 
studies,  by  her  peculiar  system  of  distinct  schools  of  study  in 
place  of  the  old  curriculum,  by  her  rigid  and  severe  standards  of 
examination,  by  constantly  distributing  a  large  and  influential 
number  of  teachers  throughout  the  South.  On  the  other  hand, 
it  is  also  very  possibly  due  to  the  same  influence  that  many  of 
these  graduates,  using  their  alma  mater  too  rigidly  as  a  model, 
while  they  undoubtedly  raised  the  standard  of  education  in  other 
directions,  also  helped  to  delay  for  so  long  the  recognition  of 
English  studies  as  of  equal  importance  with  Latin  and  Greek. 

1  Professor  Harrison  has  recently  died. 


ENGLISH    STUDIES    IN    THE    SOUTH  175 

But  the  need  and  the  feeling  were  receiving  constant  utterance. 
The  Southern  Literary  Messenger  is  the  most  characteristic 
product  and  faithful  exponent  of  Virginia  and  the  Old  South. 
The  first  editor,  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  emphasized  the  lack  of 
criticism  in  America,  and  forthwith  fell  to  executing  a  good 
deal  of  reckless,  but,  it  must  be  admitted,  wholesome  slashing. 
Later,  the  ardent  John  R.  Thompson  frequently  pleaded  for  a 
school  of  letters  at  the  state  university,  and  possibly  this  had 
something  to  do  with  the  changes  of  1857.  Nor  were  there 
wanting  attempts  on  the  linguistic  side.  In  the  columns  of  the 
same  magazine  appeared  two  or  three  articles  displaying  interest 
in  the  origins  and  development  of  the  language.  The  number 
for  September,  1848,  contained  an  Historical  Sketch  of  the 
Languages  of  Europe,  with  a  Particular  Reference  to  the  Rise  and 
Progress  of  the  English  Language;  and  in  that  for  March,  1856, 
was  a  discussion  of  English  Dictionaries,  with  Remarks  on  the 
English  Language,  signed  A.  Roane.  Continuous  evidence 
of  similar  interest  may  be  found;  for  the  educated  Virginian 
and  Southern  mind  has  always  been  peculiarly  sensitive  to  the 
proper  understanding  and  use  of  the  mother  tongue.  But 
while  something  had  undoubtedly  been  accomplished,  the  dawn 
of  a  fuller  hope  was  to  rise  immediately  from  another  quarter. 

It  was  an  institution  other  than  the  State  University  of  Vir- 
ginia, though  it  was  the  work  of  one  of  her  graduates,  that  was 
to  have  the  distinction  of  creating  a  School  of  English  in  the 
South  which  should  send  forth  apostles  with  all  the  fervor 
of  converts  and  enthusiasts.  Randolph-Macon  College  de- 
serves notice  for  devoting  a  separate  chair  to  English  litera- 
ture as  early  as  1836,  almost  from  its  inception;  and  Edward 
Dromgoole  Sims  (a  Master  of  Arts  of  the  University  of  North 
Carolina)  gave  a  course  on  historical  English  in  the  year  1839. 
He  was  installed  in  that  year  as  professor  of  English,  after  a  stay 
in  Europe  where  he  heard  lectures  on  Anglo-Saxon.  Tradition 
tells  how,  having  no  text-book,  he  used  the  blackboard  for  his 
philological  work.  At  the  end  of  three  years  he  removed  to  the 
University  of  Alabama  in  consequence  of  having  contracted  a  mar- 
riage not  then  allowed  under  the  laws  of  Virginia.     He  was  pre- 


176  ENGLISH    STUDIES    IN    THE    SOUTH 

paring  a  series  of  text-books  in  Old  English,  tradition  again  says, 
when  he  died  in  1845.  Had  he  accomplished  his  purpose  these 
works  would  have  preceded  Klipstein's  in  point  of  time.1 

It  was  again  at  Randolph- Macon  College  (though  now  removed 
from  Mecklenburg  to  Hanover  county)  that  immediately  after 
the  war  there  was  founded  a  distinct  school  of  English,  based  on 
historic  and  scientific  principles,  and  productive  of  far-reaching 
results.  I  believe  that  I  am  but  paying  a  worthy  tribute  to  one 
whom  all  his  pupils  have  found  a  helpful  guide  and  inspiring 
instructor,  in  making  the  statement  that  this  movement  was 
mainly  due  to  the  inspiration  and  effort  of  one  man  —  Thomas 
R.  Price.  I  know  perfectly  well  that  one  or  two  institutions 
assert  prior  dates  for  their  courses  in  English.  Perhaps  it  is  the 
case.  Within  the  two  or  three  years  immediately  following  the 
War — I  cannot  help  repeating  the  phrase  as  a  constant  land- 
mark—  the  Virginian  and  Southern  institutions  were  demanding 
instinctively  and  almost  simultaneously  a  training  course  in 
English,  which  should  have  regard  to  a  knowledge  both  of  the 
tongue  and  of  the  literature,  the  former  in  order  to  secure  a 
more  thorough  appreciation  of  the  value  and  spirit  of  the  latter. 
It  was  all  in  the  air,  as  we  say,  and  two  or  three  institutions 
were  actively  responsive.  Gen.  Robert  E.  Lee  was  called  al- 
most from  the  surrender  at  Appomattox  to  the  presidency  of 
Washington  College,  at  Lexington,  and  his  sympathy  with  the 
study  of  English  was  one  of  the  chief  marks  of  his  administration 
of  five  years.  As  a  result,  Professor  Edward  S.  Joynes  was 
giving  instruction  in  historical  English  in  connection  with  the 
study  of  German  and  French ;  and  Col.  William  Preston  John- 
ston, afterward  president  of  the  Tulane  University,  was  called  to 
occupy  a  newly  established  Kentucky  Chair  of  History  and 
English  Literature.  Dr.  J.  L.  M.  Curry,  later  minister  to  Spain, 
patron  of  letters  and  life-long  devotee  to  educational  interests, 
opened  a  course  in  English  at  Richmond  College,  expressly  de- 
clared to  be  of  equal  importance  with  the  classics,  almost  before 

1  Other  occupants  of  the  chair  of  English  at  Randolph-Macon  were 
William  M.  Wightman  and  David  S.  Doggett,  both  afterwards  bishops  in 
the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  South. 


ENGLISH    STUDIES    IN    THE    SOUTH  177 

the  smoke  of  battle  about  the  Confederate  capital  had  fairly 
cleared  away.  Thomas  Hume,  not  long  after  graduating  at  the 
University  of  Virginia,  had  been  giving  definite  instruction  in 
English  in  a  more  modest  female  college.  And  I  have  no 
doubt  there  were  others  still.  Everywhere  it  was  a  movement 
essentially  of  native  growth,  and  nowhere  of  foreign  importation 
or  imitation.  It  was  a  product  answering  to  local  needs,  as 
those  needs  had  become  intensified  through  the  interruptions 
and  derangements  of  the  War. 

The  suggestion  of  the  course  of  English  at  Randolph-Macon 
College  sprang  from  the  study  of  the  ancient  languages.  The 
feeling  existed  that  it  was  impossible  to  expect  appreciation  of 
idioms  in  a  foreign  language,  when  students  knew  nothing  about 
those  in  their  own  tongue.  To  quote  from  Professor  Price's 
own  words  at  the  time :  "  It  was  irrational,  absurd,  almost 
criminal,  for  example,  to  expect  a  young  man  whose  knowledge 
of  English  words  and  constructions  was  scant  and  inexact,  to 
put  into  English  a  difficult  thought  of  Plato  or  an  involved  period 
of  Cicero."  The  course  pursued  in  consequence  was  entirely 
original  in  its  premises,  and  endeavored  to  meet  these  diffi- 
culties. Both  the  disease  and  remedy  were  brought  out  by  the 
condition  present;  and  to  this,  I  think,  may  be  ascribed  in  large 
measure  the  success  of  the  movement  and  its  value  as  a  stimulus. 
The  end  set  was  to  place  in  the  ordinary  college  course  the 
study  of  English  on  an  equal  footing  with  that  of  Latin  or  Greek, 
giving  it  the  same  time  and  attention,  aiming  at  the  same 
thoroughness  and  enforcing  the  same  strictness  of  method.  A 
knowledge  of  the  early  forms  of  English  was  demanded  not  as 
philology  pure  and  simple,  constituting  an  end  in  itself,  but  as  a 
means  for  acquiring  a  true,  appreciative  knowledge  of  the 
mother  tongue,  and  thereby  for  understanding  its  literature  and 
other  literatures  all  the  more.  It  now  seems  almost  incredible 
that  it  required  so  great  an  effort  at  the  time  to  take  this  step 
or  that  old  traditions  could  become  so  firmly  crystallized. 

Professor  Price's  efforts  succeeded  all  the  more  easily  in  that 
they   were  seconded   by   his   presiding   officer,   the    Rev.   Dr. 
James  A.  Duncan,  a  man  of  singular  breadth  &nd  sympathy  of 
»3 


178  ENGLISH    STUDIES    IN    THE    SOUTH 

mind,  who  had  grouped  about  him,  irrespective  of  church  and 
denominational  ties,  a  band  of  worthy  associates.  Price,  as 
professor  of  Greek  and  Latin,  gave  up  the  latter  to  his  colleague, 
James  A.  Harrison,  who  had  charge  of  the  modern  languages, 
and  taking  control  of  the  English,  developed  it  side  by  side 
with  his  Greek,  so  as  to  cover  a  course  through  four  continuous 
years.  This  was  the  result  of  the  work  of  two  sessions,  1868-70. 
The  movement  soon  spread  far  and  wide.  Other  institutions, 
impelled  by  the  same  needs,  either  imitated  it  outright  —  some 
of  them  actually  going  so  far  as  always  to  unite  the  English 
department  with  the  Greek,  as  if  there  were  some  subtle  virtue 
in  the  connection  (building  possibly  even  wiser  than  they  knew) 
—  or  developed  out  of  their  own  necessities  similar  arrangements. 
Indeed,  with  the  courses  at  the  State  University  under  Pro- 
fessors Scheie  De  Vere,  McGuffey  and  Holmes ;  at  Washington 
College  under  Professors  Joynes  and  W.  P.  Johnston,  and  later 
James  A.  Harrison ;  at  Richmond  College,  under  Dr.  Curry, 
and  at  Randolph- Macon,  under  Professor  Price,  it  almost  seems 
that  the  colleges  in  Virginia  were  paying  at  this  time  far  more 
attention  to  the  study  of  English  than  many  of  their  sisters 
of  like  and  even  more  advanced  standing  in  the  North  and 
West 

After  the  men  at  Randolph-Macon  had  been  drilled  in  the 
rudiments  and  given  their  primary  inspiration,  many  of  them 
were  dispatched  to  Europe  for  further  training,  and  returned 
Doctors  of  Leipzig  and  fired  with  a  new  zeal.  In  mere  ap- 
pearances, it  would  seem  as  if  this  Randolph-Macon  migration 
to  Leipzig  was  the  beginning  of  the  attraction  exerted  by  that 
university  on  young  Southern  scholars,  an  attraction  which  has 
been  rivaled  in  recent  years  only  by  that  of  the  Johns  Hop- 
kins University.  The  land  lay  open  before  these  young  men 
and  they  proceeded  to  occupy  it.  Robert  Sharp  returned 
Doctor  from  Leipzig  and  was  soon  called  to  Tulane;  the  late 
William  M.  Baskervill  returned  Doctor  from  Leipzig  and  started 
an  impulse  at  Wofford  College,  in  South  Carolina,  which  he 
broadened  and  deepened  after  his  transfer,  in  1881,  to  Vander- 
bilt;  Robert  Emory  Blackwell  returned  from  Leipzig  and  sue- 


ENGLISH    STUDIES    IN    THE    SOUTH  179 

ceeded  Professor  Price  in  his  work  at  Randolph-Macon;  Frank 
C.  Woodward  succeeded  Baskervill  at  Wofford,  in  1881,  and 
removed  to  South  Carolina  College,  in  1887;  W.  A.  Frantz 
has  built  up  a  following  in  Central  College,  Missouri ;  the  late 
John  R.  Ficklen,  having  followed  Dr.  Price  to  the  State  Uni- 
versity, became  associated  with  Sharp  at  Tulane.  The  English 
fever  at  Randolph-Macon  became  epidemic.  Dr.  James  A. 
Harrison  accepted  a  call,  in  1876,  to  Washington  and  Lee  as 
professor  of  modern  languages,  and  formed  a  new  Virginia 
centre  for  specialists.  Even  Price's  successor  in  the  Greek  chair 
at  Randolph-Macon,  Charles  Morris,  soon  resigned  to  go  to  the 
University  of  Georgia  as  professor  of  English.  Nor  has  the 
manufacture  of  Randolph-Macon  professors  of  English  ever 
entirely  ceased.  Howard  Edwards,  formerly  of  the  University 
of  Kansas;  John  L  Armstrong,  late  of  Trinity  College  (N.  C.) 
and  now  of  the  Randolph-Macon  Woman's  College;  John  D. 
Epes,  subsequently  of  St  John's  College  (Md.);  John  Lesslie 
Hall,  Ph.D.  (Johns  Hopkins),  of  William  and  Mary — are  later 
accessions  to  a  list  by  no  means  complete. 

At  the  same  time  that  Price  left  Randolph-Macon  to  succeed 
Dr.  Gildersleeve  in  Greek  in  the  University  of  Virginia  (1876), 
his  colleague,  James  A.  Harrison,  as  we  have  seen,  became  suc- 
cessor of  Joynes,  who  had  gone  to  the  new  Vanderbilt  There 
has  always  been  something  in  the  quaint,  picturesque  town  of 
Lexington,  high  among  the  mountains  at  the  head  of  the  Valley 
of  Virginia,  that  has  fostered  education  and  letters.  For  more 
than  a  century  it  has  been  the  intellectual  centre  of  the  Scotch- 
Irish  population  of  the  Valley,  just  as  Williamsburg,  the  seat  of 
William  and  Mary,  was  the  corresponding  pole  for  the  pure 
English  stock  in  the  East  Rich  memories  cluster  about  the 
historic  town.  There  are  the  graves  of  Stonewall  Jackson  and 
Robert  E.  Lee,  and  there  died  Commodore  Maury.  The 
presence  of  General  Lee  for  the  five  years  of  his  life  after 
Appomattox,  made  it  for  the  nonce  typical  as  a  Southern  insti- 
tution. The  college,  first  called  Liberty  Hall  in  the  throes  of  the 
Revolution,  was  named  for  Washington,  who  tendered  it  its  first 
considerable  donation,  and  the  name  of  Lee  was  added  after  the 


180  ENGLISH    STUDIES    IN    THE    SOUTH 

latter's  death  —  the  two  names  that  appealed  most  to  Southern 
youths  with  a  sentiment  for  history. 

This  was  the  natural  atmosphere  for  the  academic  career  of 
Thomas  Nelson  Page.  There  were  others,  too,  inspired  with 
kindred  tastes.  Of  six  graduates  in  the  school  of  literature  in 
1869,  all  ultimately  M.A.'s  of  the  institution,  five  became  pro- 
fessors—  William  Taylor  Thorn,  Duncan  C.  Lyle,  Charles  A. 
Graves,  professor  of  law,  Dr.  John  P.  Strider,  professor  of  moral 
science  and  belles-lettres  —  the  last  two  at  their  alma  mater — 
and  Milton  W.  Humphreys,  now  professor  of  Greek  in  the  Uni- 
versity of  Virginia. 

The  Southern  Collegian,  the  student  periodical,  took  at  once 
a  creditable  place  among  the  best  of  similar  productions,  and 
ranked  with  the  Virginia  University  Magazine  in  volume,  and 
perhaps  excelled  it  now  and  then  in  grace  and  form.  Col.  John  T. 
L.  Preston  had  been  professor  of  belles-lettres  at  the  adjoining 
Virginia  Military  Institute  since  its  foundation,  and  his  wife, 
Mrs.  Margaret  Junkin  Preston,  was  the  characteristic  woman 
singer  of  the  South. 

Dr.  Harrison  must  have  found  his  new  atmosphere  congenial, 
as  he  set  to  work  to  build  up  a  definite  English  course.  He 
was  handicapped,  however,  by  the  fact  that  he  was  teaching 
French  and  German,  too,  and  only  English  philology;  but  he 
was  gifted  with  the  literary  feeling,  and  it  came  to  expression  in 
his  class-room.  A  course  looking  to  the  Ph.D.  was  offered,  and 
nearly  all  the  candidates  for  'Doctor'  could  choose  English. 
Many  of  them  did  so,  and  their  influence  has  extended  itself  in 
all  directions. 

It  is  very  curious  to  trace  these  various  ramifications  of 
mutual  influences,  and  to  see  them  acting  and  interacting, 
crossing  and  recrossing.  Three  main  lines  may  be  detected. 
Just  as  the  University  of  Virginia,  through  its  graduates,  became 
the  pattern  for  many,  especially  state  institutions,  and  Hampden- 
Sidney,  Davidson,  Central,  and  particularly  Presbyterian  colleges 
felt  the  influence  of  the  course  at  Washington  and  Lee,  so 
Randolph-Macon  affected  among  others,  Wofford,  and  then 
Vanderbilt,  which,  in  turn,  has  become  a  new  centre  of  activity. 


ENGLISH    STUDIES    IN    THE    SOUTH  181 

The  transmission  of  this  spirit  to  Wofford  College  and  thence 
to  Vanderbilt  University  at  Nashville,  is  peculiarly  instructive. 
W.  M.  Baskervill,  trained  under  Price  and  Harrison  and  in 
Leipzig,  came  to  Wofford  in  1876,  where  he  met  with  a  sym- 
pathetic circle.  The  president,  Dr.  James  H.  Carlisle,  had 
always  been  interested  in  English  work,  and  was  a  close  student 
of  the  history  and  meaning  of  words.  Charles  Forster  Smith, 
since  called  to  Wisconsin,  was  for  many  years  fellow-professor 
with  Baskervill,  and  James  H.  Kirkland,  first  an  appreciative 
pupil,  was  afterwards  colleague  as  Smith's  successor.  All  three 
of  these  young  scholars  took  their  degrees  in  Leipzig  and  were 
ultimately  called  to  Vanderbilt  University,  of  which  Dr.  Kirkland 
is  now  Chancellor.  The  English  language  and  letters  were 
steadily  emphasized  by  the  close  sympathies  uniting  these  three 
men  in  their  common  work  in  the  department  of  languages. 
Kirkland's  Leipzig  dissertation  was  on  an  English  subject, 
though  he  afterwards  became  professor  of  Latin;  Smith,  the  pro- 
fessor of  Greek,  was  a  constant  contributor  on  English  points; 
and  Baskervill  was  specifically  professor  in  charge.  Through 
the  standard  which  their  fortunate  circumstances  allowed  them 
to  set,  a  new  centre  ot  influence  was  formed  in  Nashville. 

It  was  this  Wofford  influence,  if  I  may  be  personal  for  a  space, 
that  had  much  to  do  with  sending  me  to  the  University  of  Vir- 
ginia to  hear  Price  in  Greek,  and  I  but  echo  the  feeling  of  many 
in  Professor  Price's  class-room,  that  it  was  hard  to  know  to 
which  of  the  two  languages  his  class  leaned  the  more,  Greek  or 
English,  so  intimately  upon  one  another,  especially  in  the  work 
of  translating,  did  the  two  depend.  At  any  rate,  it  is  singular 
that  his  pupils,  stirred  by  the  Greek  just  as  at  Randolph-Macon, 
have  used  this  classical  impulse  to  enter  upon  the  keener  study 
of  their  native  language  and  literature.  I  was  privileged  to  be  in 
the  last  Greek  class  which  Professor  Price  taught  at  the  Uni- 
versity of  Virginia;  and  contemporaneous  with  me  at  the  Uni- 
versity were  other  pupils:  Charles  W.  Kent,  Ph.D.  of  Leipzig 
(now  Linden  Kent  professor  of  English  literature  in  his  alma 
mater);  James  Douglas  Bruce,  of  the  University  of  Tennessee; 
and  Professor  W.  P.  Trent,  of  Columbia  University,  New  York. 


182  ENGLISH    STUDIES    IN    THE    SOUTH 

Eventually  Professor  Price's  strong  predilections  for  English,  and 
the  memories  of  the  work  wrought  while  at  Randolph-Macon, 
led  in  1882  to  his  acceptance  of  a  call  to  the  chair  of  English  in 
Columbia  University,  New  York,  which  he  filled  until  his  death. 

The  interest  in  the  early  forms  of  English,  strengthened  by 
further  study  at  German  universities,  led  to  a  revival  of  interest 
in  the  Old  English  texts  themselves.  I  have  already  adverted 
to  the  unfulfilled  project  of  Sims  and  to  Klipstein's  early  per- 
formances. Nothing  more  of  importance  appeared  in  America, 
until  1870,  when  Professor  March,  of  Lafayette,  Pennsylvania, 
published  a  grammar  and  specimens,  which  remained  in  gen- 
eral use  until  Sweet's  "Reader"  appeared.  Before  this,  Professor 
Scheie  De  Vere  had  written  his  "Studies  in  English,"  followed  a 
year  or  two  later  by  his  "Americanisms."  Professor  James  M. 
Garnett  produced  in  1882,  a  line-for-line  rhythmic  translation  of 
Beowulf,  the  first  American  rendering  of  the  ancient  epic,  an 
achievement  based  upon  his  class-work  in  St  John's  College ; 
the  book  has  since  passed  through  a  fourth  edition.  In  1889,  he 
added  a  version  of  the  "Elene,"  the  "Judith,"  "Athelstan,"  the 
"Fight  at  Maldon,"  in  the  same  form.  The  "Library  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  Poetry"  was  undertaken  in  1882,  by  a  Boston  publishing 
house,  with  the  general  editorship  in  the  hands  of  Professor  James 
A.  Harrison  then  of  Washington  and  Lee.  The  first  volume  to 
appear  was  the  text  of  Beowulf,  with  an  English  glossary, 
edited  by  Dr.  Harrison  himself  in  conjunction  with  a  former 
Randolph- Macon  pupil,  Dr.  Robert  Sharp  of  Tulane.  Pro- 
fessor Hunt  of  Princeton  furnished  the  second  volume,  Dr. 
Baskervill  of  Vanderbilt  added  the  "Andreas"  as  third,  and  Dr. 
Kent,  then  of  the  University  of  Tennessee,  edited  the  "Elene" 
as  the  fourth  in  the  series.  Old  English  poetry  has  exercised 
further  fascination  for  Virginians,  and  one  of  the  latest  books  is 
another  translation  of  Beowulf,  in  a  free-flowing  metrical  form, 
by  Professor  Hall  of  William  and  Mary,  making  the  second 
version  of  this  stirring  Germanic  epic  by  an  American  scholar. 

It  has  been  seen  that  the  necessity  for  a  complete  course  in 
English  was  felt  and  received  full  development  in  Virginia  and 
the  South  before  the  Johns  Hopkins  University  in  Baltimore 


ENGLISH    STUDIES    IN    THE    SOUTH  183 

affected  the  movement  We  cannot  too  strongly  emphasize  the 
fact  of  this  native  growth,  this  development  from  the  needs  of 
the  country  just  after  the  interruptions  and  distractions  oc- 
casioned by  the  War.  Nor  should  we  forget  that  it  was  an  off- 
shoot from  the  study  of  the  classic  tongues,  especially  Greek  — 
the  love  of  the  grandest  of  ancient  literatures  naturally  giving 
birth  to  a  desire  for  a  closer  knowledge  of  the  spirit  of  our  own, 
a  literature  which  so  many  of  us  would  place  in  the  forefront  of 
all  modern  expressions  of  life. 

The  English  course  at  the  Johns  Hopkins  was  developed  later 
than  some  others,  and  is  still  partial  and  incomplete  on  the  side 
of  literary  history  and  criticism.  Since,  however,  under  Dr. 
James  W.  Bright,  the  philological  course  has  attained  its  high 
degree  of  scientific  accuracy,  the  tide,  which  formerly  swept 
across  the  seas  to  Leipzig,  has  been  steadily  flowing  thitherward. 
Many  of  Dr.  Bright*  s  best  pupils,  it  seems,  come  from  Southern 
colleges  with  a  love  for  their  special  study  already  implanted 
in  their  hearts.  Morgan  Callaway,  Jr.,  in  Texas ;  the  late  Charles 
H.  Ross  in  Alabama;  St.  James  Cummings  in  South  Carolina; 
C.  A.  Smith,  formerly  of  Chapel  Hill,  now  of  the  University  of 
Virginia,  and  T.  P.  Harrison  in  North  Carolina ;  Lesslie  Hall  in 
Virginia;  and  many  others  —  are  Hopkins  men.  Some  have 
preferred  the  more  distant  Harvard  for  the  sake  of  the  literary 
atmosphere,  as  in  the  case  of  John  M.  Manly  of  South 
Carolina,  now  the  distinguished  head  of  the  English  depart- 
ment in  Chicago  University,  and  W.  P.  Few,  dean1  of  Trinity 
College,  North  Carolina.  Among  Cornell  graduates,  the  most 
distinguished  student  in  the  South  is  Edwin  Mims,  also  of 
Trinity  but  later  of  the  University  of  North  Carolina. 

I  have  made  no  attempt  to  furnish  a  full  account  of  all  the 
workers  in  the  South  and  the  work  done.  I  am  simply  marking 
out  a  few  distinct  lines  along  which,  it  seems  to  me,  the  move- 
ment has  progressed.  Of  course  this  body  of  teachers,  most  of 
them  comparatively  young  men,  have  to  confront  peculiar  con- 
ditions in  every  case,  and  the  work  of  each  must  be  adapted  to 

'Now  President. 


184  ENGLISH    STUDIES    IN    THE    SOUTH 

these  accordingly.  Every  kind  of  method  must  be  used,  every 
kind  of  predilection  may  find  its  scope.  I  am  not  sure  that  this 
is  in  itself  to  be  deplored.  I  cannot  believe  that  any  iron-clad 
method,  however  approved,  may  suit  all  times  and  stages  of 
development,  every  class  of  students,  and  (a  very  important 
matter,  too)  the  different  temperaments  of  individual  teachers. 

Nor  do  I  mantain  that  the  output  of  professors  and  teachers 
in  a  special  department  is  the  sole  or  even  main  test  of  a  man's 
work.  It  might,  on  the  contrary,  be  the  evidence  of  narrowing 
influences  and  a  cramped  environment,  the  mere  reflection  of 
academic  dexterity.  I  believe  that  the  broadest  and  most  help- 
ful work  is  often  that  which  inspires  with  a  profound  love  for 
culture  and  letters,  and  informs  the  soul  with  the  instinct  and 
the  passion  forjtruth.  Everything  depends  so  much  upon  the 
ends  in  view  aAd  the  character  of  the  work.  Looking  over  dif- 
ferent college  catalogues,  I  see  some  lean  to  aesthetics,  some  to 
historical  methods;  some  show  enthusiasm  for  Shakespeare  (what- 
ever else  may  suffer),  some  treat  specifically  of  prose  style,  and 
some  of  verse  as  a  science  of  forms;  some  instruct  by  periods 
and  topics,  and  some  lay  stress  on  philology  and  etymologies. 
I  observe  the  greatest  diversity,  and  I  confess  with  a  certain 
equanimity  there  is  no  opportunity  for  dogmatizing  too  rigidly 
anywhere.  No  one  is  altogether  right,  we  may  be  sure  —  the 
study  of  a  language  and  its  literature  has  so  many  facets.  Let 
us  also  trust  that  no  one  is  altogether  wrong.  The  work  is 
diverse,  but,  it  is  believed,  not  chaotic.  I  am  satisfied  that  there 
is  turned  out  each  year  a  body  of  students  from  these  colleges 
with  appreciation  of  the  spirit  of  their  mother  tongue  and  its 
native  literature.  And  may  not  the  several  enthusiasms  and 
interests  each  awaken  its  own  peculiar  discipleship  ? 

I  believe  so  intensely  in  the  personality  of  both  teacher  and 
pupil  and  in  the  sympathy  existing  between  the  two  at  certain 
stages  in  this  development,  that  I  trust  that  by  all  of  these  ways 
the  spirit  of  inquiry,  of  study,  of  creation,  is  awakened.  For, 
after  all,  it  is  this  spirit,  the  instinct  for  creative  work,  which  will 
lead  to  that  future  of  education,  of  scholarship,  of  literary  excel- 
lence toward  which,  to  judge  from  expression,  we  are  all  striving. 


ENGLISH    STUDIES    IN    TH'E    SOUTH  186 

There  are  those  who  believe  always  in  new  possibilities  in 
educational  and  literary  movements,  who  delight  in  tracing  con- 
ditions to  effects,  and  in  forecasting  events  and  portraying  the 
tendencies  of  the  future.  What  is  to  be  the  result  in  the  course 
of  time  of  all  this  instruction  in  English,  this  endeavor,  this 
straining  to  get  and  give  an  exacter  knowledge  of  the  native 
tongue  and  literature?  It  is  just  as  characteristic,  too,  of  Eng- 
land as  it  is  of  America.  It  seems  to  mean,  at  least,  that  the 
literature  of  the  past  will  be  studied,  annotated,  edited  —  no 
name  being  too  poor  for  reverence.  But  will  it  result  in  broader 
views  of  life,  in  a  conscious  criticism,  in  strengthening  the  per- 
sonal attitude,  so  that  it  may  produce  an  era  of  its  own,  with 
new  sources,  new  aims,  and  a  new  fulfillment?  It  would  almost 
be  a  pity  to  close  with  a  query. 


VII. 

Two  Pioneers  in  the  Historical 

Study  of  English: 

Thomas  Jefferson  and 

Louis  F.  Klipstein 

A  Contribution  to  the  History  of  the  Study  of 
English  in  America. 


From  The  Proceedings  of  the  Modern  Language  Association 
of  America  for  1892. 


TWO  PIONEERS   IN  THE   HISTORICAL  STUDY  OF 

ENGLISH:  THOMAS  JEFFERSON  AND 

LOUIS  F.  KLIPSTEIN 

THE  historical  study  of  English  —as  nearly  every  point  in 
the  educational  history  of  Virginia  —  is  closely  associated 
with  the  name  of  Thomas  Jefferson.1  As  early  as  1779  there 
is  found  an  expression  of  Jefferson's  interest  in  connection  with 
the  College  of  William  and  Mary,  of  which  he  was  then  a  Visitor, 
when  he  proposed  the  addition  of  two  new  Professorships,  one 
of  which  should  undertake  the  study  of  the  ancient  languages, 
including  both  the  Oriental  and  the  Northern  tongues  (Mceso- 
Gothic,  Anglo-Saxon,  and  Old  Icelandic),  and  the  other  be  de- 
voted to  that  of  the  Modern  Languages.  But  while  the  bill  with 
these  features  could  not  pass  and  only  the  latter  chair  was 
established,  Jefferson  by  no  means  abandoned  his  ideas  but  soon 
afterwards  gave  expression  to  the  following  opinion:  "To  the 
Professorships  usually  established  in  the  universities  of  Europe 
it  would  seem  proper  to  add  one  for  the  ancient  languages  and 
literature  of  the  North,  on  account  of  their  connection  with  our 
own  language,  laws,  customs,  and  history"  ("Notes  on  Vir- 
ginia," 3d  ed.,  1801,  p.  224)  —  this  being  the  earliest  advocacy 
in  America  of  the  idea  of  Germanic  institutional  and  linguistic 
studies. 

Jefferson  expresses  himself  with  even  greater  freedom  in  the 
letter  to  Herbert  Croft,  LL.B.,  of  London,  dated  from  Monti- 
cello,  October  30,  1798.  It  forms  the  introductory  part  of  the 
work,  An  Essay  towards  facilitating  instruction  in  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  and  modern  dialects  of  the  English  Language,  printed  in 
185 1  by  order  of  the  Board  for  the  University  of  Virginia,  and 
mentioned  on  page  75  of  Walker's  "Grundriss"  under  an  im- 

1  Jefferson's  interest  in  the  Historical  Study  of  English  has  been  com- 
mented on  by  H.  E.  Shepherd:  American  Journal  of  Philology,  III,  211  £. ; 
Edward  A.  Allen:  Thomas  Jefferson  and  the  Study  of  English,  The 
Academy  (Syracuse,  N.  Y.)  for  February,  1888;  H.  B.  Adams:  Thomas 
Jefferson  and  the  University  of  Virginia,  U.  S.  Bureau  of  Education,  1888. 


190      PIONEERS  IN  HISTORICAL  STUDY  OF  ENGLISH: 

perfect  title  and  with  a  misleading  remark.  This  letter  to  Croft 
was  written  in  acknowledgment  of  the  receipt  of  the  latter's 
Letter  from  Germany  to  the  Princess  Royal  of  England:  on  the 
English  and  German  Languages  (Hamburg,  1797),  the  dedi- 
cation of  which  evidences  the  influence  of  the  English  residence 
of  the  House  of  Hanover  upon  the  closer  relationship  of  the 
English  and  German  peoples  and  the  beginnings  of  a  movement 
of  intellectual  intercourse  which  has  so  deeply  affected  modern 
English  and  American  scholarship  and  thought. 

Croft,  as  he  himself  informs  us,  had  republished  Dr.  Johnson's 
Dictionary  with  many  corrections  and  additions,  and  after 
editing  King  Alfred's  Will,  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Germany, 
following  up  his  philological  investigations,  with  a  view  to  pub- 
lishing an  "English  and  American  Dictionary."  To  us  —  and 
probably  to  Jefferson  —  the  most  interesting  part  of  the  letter 
are  the  remarks  on  the  English  language  as  influenced  by 
America.  "The  future  history  of  the  other  three  quarters  of 
the  world  will,  probably,  be  much  affected  by  America's  speaking 
the  language  of  England.  Its  natives  write  the  language  par- 
ticularly well,  considering  they  have  no  dictionary  yet,  and  how 
insufficient  Johnson's  is!  Washington's  speeches  seldom  ex- 
hibited more  than  a  word  or  two,  liable  to  the  least  objection ; 
and,  from  the  style  of  his  publications,  as  much  or  more  accu- 
racy may  be  expected  from  his  successor,  Adams.  [A  note  at  the 
end  of  the  pamphlet  adds,  "Mr.  Jefferson  should  have  been  men- 
tioned."] Perhaps  we  are,  just  now,  not  very  far  distant  from 
the  precise  moment,  for  making  some  grand  attempt  with  regard 
to  fixing  the  standard  of  our  language  (no  language  can  be  fixed) 
in  America.  Such  an  attempt  would,  I  think,  succeed  in 
America,  for  the  same  reasons  that  would  make  it  fail  in  England, 
whither,  however,  it  would  communicate  its  good  effects.  De- 
servedly immortal  would  be  that  patriot,  on  either  side  of  the 
Atlantick,  who  should  succeed  in  such  an  attempt"  (p.  2,  note  1). 

It  is  in  acknowledgment  of  this  publication  of  Croft's  that 
Jefferson  is  led  to  disclose  how  he  came  to  turn  his  attention  to 
Anglo-Saxon  and  to  give  his  own  views  on  the  methods  of  its 
study.     As  a  student  of  the  law,  he  was  obliged  to  recur  to  that 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON  AND  LOUIS  F.  KLIPSTEIN        191 

source  for  explanation  of  a  multitude  of  law  terms,  and,  he  tells 
us,  he  was  especially  influenced  by  a  Preface  to  Fortescue  on 
Monarchies,  written  by  Fortescue- Aland,  and  afterwards  pre- 
fixed to  the  latter's  volume  of  Reports.  In  this  Preface  to 
Fortescue,  which  was  published  in  1714,  the  editor  devotes  fully 
half  his  space  (pp.  xli-lxxxii)  to  a  discussion  of  the  nature  of 
Anglo-Saxon,  gives  a  number  of  glosses,  evidences  individual 
words  illustrating  its  compounds  and  forcible  terms  and  ex- 
pressions in  place  of  Latin  and  Greek  ones,  and  argues  that  an 
acquaintance  therewith  is  of  especial  value  to  lawyers.  Finally, 
he  coats  the  pill  with  these  sugared  words:  "The  Difficulty  of 
attaining  the  Language  is  nothing.  It  is  in  Practice  so  useful, 
and  in  Theory  so  delightful,  that  I  am  persuaded  no  Young 
Gentleman,  who  has  Time  and  Leisure,  will  ever  repent  the 
Labour  in  attaining  to  some  Degree  of  Knowledge  in  it"  (p. 
Ixxxi).  Jefferson's  citation  of  "the  names  of  Lambard,  Parker, 
Spelman,  Wheeloc,  Wilkins,  Gibson,  Hickes,  Thwaites,  Somner, 
Benson,  Mareschal,  Elstob,"  on  page  8  of  his  Essay,  where  all 
save  Parker  and  Wilkins  are  taken  from  the  "Catalogue  of  the 
most  considerable  Authors,"  appended  to  Fortescue- Aland's 
Preface  and  giving  upwards  of  thirty  standard  works  of  the  time, 
shows  that  this  incitation  had  its  due  effect  on  at  least  one 
Young  Gentleman.  That  Jefferson  made  also  other  than  a  mere 
academic  use  of  his  knowledge  is  gathered  from  a  judgment 
expressed  by  R.  G.  H.  Kean,  Esq.,  in  the  Virginia  Law  Journal 
for  December,  1877:  The  "portion  of  Jefferson's  work  as  a  legis- 
lator is  remarkable  for  his  citations  from  the  original  Anglo- 
Saxon  laws." 

Jefferson  mentions,  besides,  in  his  letter  to  Croft,  his  use  of 
Elstob's  Grammar  —  a  work  written  by  a  woman  and  based  upon 
Hickes,  and  the  first  Anglo-Saxon  Grammar  written  in  English, 
and  intended  for  others  of  her  sex  who  knew  no  Latin  —  and  he 
adds  that  the  ideas  which  he  noted  at  the  time  on  its  blank 
leaves,  he  sends  as  a  sequel  to  his  letter  for  examination.  Now 
there  seems  every  probability  that  Jefferson's  Essay  is  nothing 
but  these  notes  later  expanded.  The  contents  of  the  Essay  are: 
first,  the  Letter  to  Croft,  written  in  1797  (pp.  3-5);  then,  the 


192      PIONEERS  IN  HISTORICAL  STUDY  OF  ENGLISH: 

formal  Essay,  written  in  1818  (pp.  7-20);  the  Postscript  to  the 
letter,  written  in  1825  (pp.  20-24);  Observations  on  Anglo- 
Saxon  Grammar  (pp.  25-33);  and  a  Specimen  (pp.  35-43)  —  the 
last  two  having  no  date  assigned.  Indeed,  as  there  is  much 
repetition  to  be  observed,  probably  enough  the  "Observations" 
were  taken  more  directly  from  the  notes  in  Elstob's  Grammar, 
left  comparatively  unchanged,  while  the  formal  Essay  (pp.  7-20), 
though  preceding  in  the  printed  form,  was  clearly  written  later 
and  was  based  upon  these  "Observations,"  or  upon  like  material. 
For  instance,  in  the  "Observations,"  there  are  only  two 
headings  —  Pronunciation  and  Declension  of  Nouns  —  instead  of 
the  later  and  better  developed  division  into  four;  again,  the 
number  of  Hickes's  declensions  has  been  reduced  in  the  "Ob- 
servations" from  six  to  four,  but  in  the  formal  essay  three  sim- 
ple canons  suffice  to  embrace  all  forms. 

This  last  illustration  indicates  sufficiently  well  the  character 
of  Jefferson's  Essay  and  the  nature  of  his  argument.  His  chief 
error  lies  in  too  great  simplification  for  the  sake  of  unity.  Of 
course,  he  was  mistaken  in  many  of  his  views  according  to  latter- 
day  standards;  but  he  is  to  be  judged  rather  from  the  spirit  of 
his  utterance  than  from  its  details.  He  speaks,  himself,  in  all 
modesty  of  his  slight  opportunity  for  the  pursuits  in  a  life  busied 
with  varied  cares.  But  he  sees  clearly  and  insists  upon  the 
great  truth  underlying  modern  scientific  study,  that  Old  English 
is  nothing  but  the  English  current  at  that  time;  and  this  unity 
and  the  consequent  development  he  refuses  to  let  be  obscured. 
True,  this  very  persistency  led  him  again  into  error,  as  when,  be- 
cause Modern  English  was  but  slightly  inflected,  he  was  inclined 
to  treat  every  period  of  English  in  the  same  spirit  and  to  consider 
the  minute  divisions  into  declensions  and  in  accordance  with  all 
inflections,  useless  lumber.  Yet  how  temperate  he  was,  even  in 
this  discussion  between  the  methods  of  the  ancients  and  the 
moderns  —  the  new  phase  in  the  Battle  of  the  Books —  may  be 
easily  discerned  from  a  comparison  of  his  views  with  the  utter 
pretentiousness  of  Henshall's  "English  and  Saxon  Languages," 
issued  in  the  same  year  with  Jefferson's  letter  to  Croft.  Also, 
Jefferson  did  not  clearly  enough  distinguish  the  early  periods  of 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON  AND  LOUIS  F.  KLIPSTEIN        193 

the  language,  and  was  prone  to  bundle  Old  and  Middle  English 
forms  indiscriminately  together.  All  these  are  serious  errors  in 
details;  but  Jefferson's  practical  vision,  common  sense,  and 
historic  instinct,  comprehended  thoroughly  the  Teutonic  origin 
and  the  essential  unity  of  all  periods  of  the  English  tongue,  and 
so  far  insisted  on  the  necessity  of  a  knowledge  of  the  earlier 
forms  —  language,  literature,  laws,  customs  —  in  order  rightly 
to  interpret  and  to  appreciate  those  of  to-day,  that  in  fathering 
his  State  University  he  introduced  into  its  curriculum  the  first 
course  of  Anglo-Saxon  found  in  an  American  institution  of 
learning. 

The  University  of  Virginia,  chartered  in  1819,  was  thrown 
open  to  students  in  1825;  the  chair  of  Modern  Languages  in- 
cluded French,  Spanish,  Italian,  German,  and  Anglo-Saxon;  and 
from  that  day  to  this  Jefferson's  wish  has  been  carried  out  con- 
tinuously, and  a  course  in  Anglo-Saxon  has  been  constantly 
given,  however  meagre  and  inadequate  at  times,  through  the  exi- 
gency of  circumstances,  it  may  have  become.  Of  this  chair  there 
have  been  thus  far  [1892]  but  three  occupants.  The  first  (im- 
ported, as  most  of  Jefferson's  original  faculty  were,  from  Europe) 
was  George  Blattermann,  LL.D.,  a  German  by  birth,  resident 
in  London,  who  held  the  position  from  1825  to  1840.  One  who 
was  both  his  pupil  and  his  colleague  has  left  this  tribute:  "He 
gave  proof  of  extensive  acquirements  and  of  a  mind  of  uncommon 
natural  vigor  and  penetration.  In  connection  more  especially 
with  the  lessons  in  German  and  Anglo-Saxon  he  gave  his  stu- 
dents much  that  was  interesting  and  valuable  in  comparative 
philology  also,  a  subject  in  which  he  found  peculiar  pleasure" 
(Duyckinck's  Cycl.,  II,  p.  730,  ed.  of  1856).  Together  with 
his  colleague  in  the  chair  of  ancient  languages,  Professor  George 
Long,  he  furnished  contributions  to  a  "Comparative  Grammar." 
His  successor  was  Charles  Kraitsir,  M.D.,  who  published, 
among  other  works,  a  "Glossology:  being  a  treatise  on  the  nature 
of  language  and  on  the  language  of  nature"  (N.  Y.,  1852).  In 
1844  was  chosen  M.  Scheie  De  Vere,  Ph.D.,  J.U.D.,  the  pres- 
ent honored  incumbent  and  senior  member  of  the  Faculty, 
well-known  as  the  author  of  "Outlines  of  Comparative  Philology" 
14 


194      PIONEERS  IN  HISTORICAL  STUDY  OF  ENGLISH: 

(1853);  "Grammar  of  the  Spanish  Language"  (1857);  "Grammar 
of  the  French  Language"  (1867);  "Studies  in  English"  (1867); 
"Americanisms"  (1872),  etc.  Although  a  course  of  English 
Literature  had  been  instituted  in  1857,  in  connection  with  the 
chair  of  History,  it  was  not  until  1882  that  a  separate  chair  for 
English  Language  and  Literature  was  established ;  and  in  the 
present  session  (1892-3)  an  additional  chair  has  been  added, 
separating  this  study  permanently  into  its  two  component  parts, 
philology  and  literature,  thus  carrying  out  logically  to  its  full 
development,  the  principles  advocated  so  early  by  the  illustrious 
founder. 

Indeed,  the  whole  subject  of  the  study  of  English  in  Virginia, 
bringing  in  the  perfectly  independent  work  done  at  other 
institutions  (Randolph-Macon,  Richmond,  Washington  and  Lee, 
etc.),  and  all  at  a  time  when  little  or  no  attention  was  given  to 
this  study  in  more  accredited  institutions  of  other  States,  is  so 
marked  in  its  individuality  in  the  history  of  education  in  our 
country,  that  its  consideration  constitutes  an  important  chapter 
in  the  history  of  American  intellectual  development. 

Entirely  independent  of  Jefferson's  efforts  were  the  labors  of 
Louis  F.  Klipstein.  He  is  mentioned  in  Wiilker's  "Grundriss," 
but  with  even  greater  inaccuracy  than  in  Jefferson's  case. 
Wiilker  asserts  with  seeming  satisfaction  that  the  first  efforts  in 
the  study  of  Anglo-Saxon  in  America  were  on  the  part  of  a  Ger- 
man ("und  zwar  war  es  ein  Deutscher,  welcher  zuerst  fur  Angel- 
sachsisch  wirkte");  but  Klipstein  was  a  Virginian  by  birth, 
from  Winchester,  became  a  student  at  Hampden-Sidney  College, 
received  the  degree  of  A.B.  in  1832,  and  immediately  after  took 
the  prescribed  three  years'  course  in  the  neighboring  Union 
Theological  Seminary.  He  entered  upon  the  duties  of  a  Presby- 
terian minister  of  the  gospel  in  1835,  being  licensed  by  the 
Winchester  Presbytery,  but  seceded  shortly  to  the  New  School 
division  in  the  Presbyterian  Church,  and  must  soon  have  given 
up  preaching  altogether,  as  his  license  was  revoked  in  1840. 
About  this  time  he  went  to  Germany  in  order  to  prosecute  his 
studies,  and  on  the  title-page  of  his  published  works  he  always 
signs  himself  "A. A.,  LL.M.,  and  Ph.D.,  of  the  University  of 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON  AND  LOUIS  F.  KLIPSTEIN        196 

Giessen."  Besides,  his  most  ambitious  work,  the  "Analecta,"  is 
dedicated  to  "Augustus  Von  Klipstein,  Ph.D.,  Professor  of 
Mineralogy  and  the  Art  of  Mining  in  the  University  of  Giessen," 
and  it  was  probably  these  circumstances,  together  with  his 
German  name,  that  misled  Wulker.  Upon  his  return  to  Amer- 
ica, he  went  southwards  to  Charleston,  South  Carolina,  for  the 
sake  of  his  health,  and  engaged  as  tutor  in  a  family  in  the  neigh- 
boring country,  at  St.  James,  Santee.  We  learn  from  the  South- 
ern Literary  Messenger  for  April,  1844,  that  he  began  editing 
about  this  time  a  monthly  periodical  of  24  pages,  devoted  to  the 
French,  German,  Spanish,  and  Italian  languages,  published  in 
Charleston,  and  called  The  Polyglott,  which  was  contemporary 
with  another  equally  as  short-lived  Charleston  journal,  a  semi- 
monthly rival,  The  Interpreter,  directed  to  the  same  ends.  It  was 
the  material  thus  collected  that  formed  the  basis  of  his  "Study  of 
Modern  Languages."  Two  years  later  (1846)  he  announced 
through  the  Putnam  publishing  house  in  New  York  a  series  of 
books  on  Anglo-Saxon,  choosing,  in  two  instances  at  least,  April 
1,  as  an  anniversary  upon  which  to  write  a  Preface.  Within  the 
next  two  or  three  years  four  of  these  works  appeared :  "Tha  Hal- 
gan  Godspel  on  Englisc;"  "A  Grammar  of  the  Anglo-Saxon 
Language;"  "Analecta  Anglo-Saxonica  —  Selections  in  Prose 
and  Verse,  from  the  Anglo-Saxon  Literature,"  in  two  volumes; 
and  "Natale  Sancti  Gregorii  Papae"— jElfric's  Homily  on  the 
Birthday  of  Saint  Gregory,  with  miscellaneous  extracts.  All 
these  books,  even  though  one  or  two  passed  beyond  the  first  edi- 
tion, proved  heavy  financial  losses,  and  it  seems  much  of  the  prop- 
erty of  his  wife  —  for  he  had  meanwhile  married  a  daughter  of 
the  house  where  he  had  been  installed  as  tutor  —  was  lost  in  pay- 
ment.1 This  was  probably  the  chief  reason  why  other  works 
which  he  announced  never  saw  the  light  of  day;  as,  "A  Glossary 
to  the  Analecta  Anglo-Saxonica;"  "The  Anglo-Saxon  Para- 
phrase of  the  Book  of  Psalms;"  "Anglo-Saxon  Metrical 
Legends;"  "The  Anglo-Saxon  Poem  of  Beowulf;"  "The  Rites, 
Ceremonies,  and  Polity  of  the  Anglican  Church;"  "A  Philo- 
sophical Grammar  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  Language,"  etc. 

1 A  fact  gathered  from  material  kindly  furnished  by  Dr,  T.  P.  Harrison. 


196      PIONEERS  IN  HISTORICAL  STUDY  OF  ENGLISH 

His  "Grammar,"  which  appeared  in  1848,  was  dedicated  to 
Orville  Horwitz,  Esq.,  of  Baltimore,  in  appreciation  of  "a 
friendship  which  a  close  intimacy  of  years  has  tended  only  to 
strengthen;"  and  the  latter  reciprocated  this  interest  by  writing 
an  Introduction  on  the  Study  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  Language  — 
filling  22  pages. 

It  is  noteworthy  that  despite  Klipstein's  German  degree,  he 
fashions  himself  on  the  English  models  of  the  day.  He  re- 
produced the  work  of  English  scholars  in  a  special  form  for 
American  students.  It  is  Thorpe's  "Gospels"  without  change, 
a  "Grammar"  akin  to  Thorpe's  translation  of  Rask,  two  books 
of  "Selections"  suggested  by  Thorpe's  similar  volume,  that  he 
gives  to  American  readers.  But  with  all  their  sad  defects  and 
errors  and  uncritical  editing,  his  interest  in  the  subject  and  the 
spirit  and  purpose  of  his  work,  demand  a  certain  recognition ; 
and  the  actual  performance  ranks  fairly  well  in  point  of  origi- 
nality, if  one  considers  the  advance  in  the  scholarship  of  to- 
day, with  similar  performances  by  latter-day  American  students, 
who  have  reproduced  in  special  American  editions  work  already 
performed  by  European  scholars,  with  more  or  less  changes  both 
for  better  and  for  worse. 

Klipstein  is  said  to  have  been  very  unfortunate  in  his  later 
life,  which  he  ended  under  a  cloud.     He  died  in  1879. 


VIII. 

The  National  Element  in 
Southern  Literature 


From  The  Sewanee  Review, 
July,  1903 


THE  NATIONAL  ELEMENT  IN  SOUTHERN 
LITERATURE 

IT  is  well  understood  that  in  any  proper  acceptance  of  the 
term,  American  literature  ought  to  reflect  the  progress  and 
processes  of  American  thought  and  life.  What  seems  a  truism 
in  uttering  it,  was  long  hidden  from  the  practice  of  American 
writers.  At  first  American  letters  represented  almost  anything 
but  American  life,  and,  in  consequence,  no  life  anywhere.  The 
American  inherited  English  law  and  English  custom;  these  he 
made  his  own  and  modified  them  to  suit  his  convenience.  He 
also  inherited  the  English  language  and  English  literature  com- 
plete at  his  command ;  but  not  so  happy  always  were  the  uses 
to  which  he  subjected  the  language,  and  his  direction  in  literary 
work  was  frequently  obtuse. 

There  could  not  here  be  the  same  mastery  over  matter  as  in 
the  laws;  there  was  not  the  same  independence  of  conditions 
nor  the  same  self-reliance.  In  this  case  isolation  wrought  a 
harm  that  in  the  other  had  stimulated  development.  In  thought, 
in  literature,  or  in  the  attempts  that  passed  under  the  name  of 
literature,  English  traditions,  English  models,  English  pro- 
ductions, were  long  dominant ;  English  culture  in  education  and 
letters  was  merely  transferred,  and  too  often,  after  tradition 
became  weakened,  there  was  current  what  purported  to  be  the 
genuine  article  under  borrowed  forms  that  were  but  shoddy. 
Nor  in  the  nature  of  the  case  has  this  influence  ever  been 
entirely  removed.  The  War  of  Independence  was  waged,  and 
the  two  countries  were  severed  as  States  politically,  but  the 
thought  of  the  new  nation  was  still  largely  moulded  in  forms  of 
the  old.  The  whole  course  of  literature  in  America  may  be 
described  as  a  continual  struggle:  first,  for  existence;  then,  for 
recognition;  and,  at  length,  as  many  of  us  believe  in  certain 
departments  for  rivalry.  How  far  this  last  has  gone  might  lead 
to  interesting  and  serious  questioning. 

If  we  take  the  history  of  American  literary  achievement, 


200  THE    NATIONAL    ELEMENT    IN 

and  run  over  the  names  and  select  that  portion  of  the  work  of 
each  which  has  secured  permanence,  there  will  always  be  found 
in  what  has  survived,  the  native  and  local,  united  with  the 
national  and  spiritual,  character  as  opposed  to  the  imitative. 

Franklin  was  the  first  American  in  his  sturdy  manhood  as 
revealed  in  his  Autobiography.  Irving  lives  to  us  of  to-day  in 
what  he  made  his  possession:  the  beginnings  of  a  Greater  New 
York,  the  haunts  of  the  Hudson  Valley,  and  the  Catskill  Moun- 
tains. Cooper  treated  interior  New  York,  which  was  then 
border  land  for  white  man,  Indian,  and  beast.  Hawthorne 
portrayed  the  spirit  of  early  New  England  Puritanism  —  its 
sternness  and  severity,  as  well  as  its  faithfulness  and  strength. 
Poe  saw  visions  of  the  artist,  and  depicted  vividly  what  was  to 
his  active  fantasy  a  very  real  dream-land.  Bryant  caught  the 
poetry  lurking  in  American  woods  and  streams.  Longfellow 
lived  and  spoke  the  sweetness  of  the  simple  dignity  of  American 
home  life.  Whittier  sang  of  the  New  England  farmer  boy  in 
the  attitude,  though  he  could  not  attain  the  voice,  of  Burns. 
Emerson  was  a  clarifying  voice  delivering  to  the  growing 
material  conditions  of  a  new  world  a  message  of  humanity  and  of 
fuller  and  richer  spiritual  life.  Whitman  was  a  sound  from  the 
same  new  world,  so  acute  and  in  phases  so  novel  that  he  is  not 
yet  satisfactorily  placed.  Holmes  was  the  genial  poet  of  occa- 
sion; Lowell,  the  first  distinctive  American  critic;  and  Curtis, 
the  man  of  letters  in  public  and  political  life.  Timrod's  lyric 
pipe  rejoiced  with  the  coming  of  spring  in  his  Carolina  home, 
and  Lanier  found  music  in  the  cornfields  and  marshes  and  streams 
of  Georgia.  The  historians  began  with  the  settlement  of  their 
own  country,  and  were  thus  led  to  related  Spanish  and  French 
worlds  and  to  kindred  Germanic  institutions. 

The  point  is,  that  the  rule  and  degree  of  success  has  been  that 
what  a  man  found  nearest  his  heart  and  into  which  he  had  most 
closely  and  spiritually  lived  —  what  was  his  own  and  could  not 
be  taken  away  —  is  that  which  a  later  generation  has  accepted 
and  received  from  him  as  individual  and  is  not  willing  to  let  die. 
When  the  local  and  national  and  racial  flavor  has  been  caught, 
together  with  insight  into  elemental  truth   of  character,  and 


SOUTHERN     LITERATURE  201 

artistic  form  has  fused  these  qualities,  then  a  masterpiece  of 
literature  results.  When  this  large  insight  has  failed  or  is 
limited,  there  has  necessarily  arisen  the  tinge  of  provinciality. 

Now  it  is  just  this  touch  of  provinciality  that  has  continually 
been  urged  against  the  literature  of  the  South.  But  it  is  true 
not  only  of  the  South.  It  is  in  the  South  as  elsewhere  in 
America.  It  is  the  sad,  admitted  truth  of  American  literature 
generally.  The  new  nation  as  a  whole  must  confess  that  there 
has  been  and  is  much  truth  in  the  charge  of  provinciality.  And 
so  it  may  be  repeated.  Much  said  of  Southern  literary  con- 
ditions is  not  simply  Southern,  but  a  common  American  charac- 
teristic, with  special  modifications  and  limitations  springing 
from  local  causes.  To  be  rigidly  scientific  in  this  mode  of 
investigation,  one  ought  first  to  find  out  what  is  generally 
American,  and  then  determine  what  is  specifically  Southern  by 
special  deviation  from  the  type.  It  is  evidently  unfair  to 
charge  a  section  with  what  is  frequent  enough  and,  indeed, 
common  elsewhere.  This  is  constantly  to  be  kept  in  mind. 
The  greatest  mistake  made  in  judging  Southern  literature,  even 
by  its  friends,  is  that  we  are  apt  to  speak  of  it  by  itself  as  if  it 
were  a  thing  apart  and  of  a  country  apart.  "There  is  so  little 
that  is  permanent  in  Southern  letters,"  one  will  cry;  another 
will  explain  that  the  conditions  were  unfavorable;  and  so  forth 
and  so  forth.  But  one  feels  very  much  like  answering:  true  — 
and  it  has  been  largely  true  of  the  entire  country.  There  is 
little  that  has  been  permanent  in  American  letters;  the  con- 
ditions have  been  unfavorable  to  literature.  It  is  a  half-truth 
everywhere  in  our  country.  It  is  true  also  of  the  South,  but  it 
is  not  of  the  South  alone. 

Another  point  of  difference  must  not  be  overlooked:  the 
immense  disparity  in  population  and  wealth  created  for  the  last 
generation  by  the  four  years  of  war.  In  New  England  the 
literary  men  largely  remained  at  home,  and  were  still  writing 
and  singing  at  its  close.  Nor  Bryant,  nor  Longfellow,  nor 
Holmes,  nor  Emerson,  nor  Whittier,  nor  Lowell  engaged  in 
active  warfare.  True,  they  were  engaged  strenuously  with  their 
pens,  a  happy  circumstance  not  permitted  to  others.     There 


202  THE    NATIONAL    ELEMENT    IN 

was  necessarily  much  loss  throughout  the  country,  but  the 
physical  and  spiritual  resources  of  the  losing  section  were 
prostrated  and  reduced  to  exhaustion.  Theodore  Winthrop 
and  Fitz  James  O'Brien  met  death  in  service,  and  doubtless 
other  gallant  youth  died  in  the  glow  of  a  splendid  promise. 
But  the  loss  of  the  South  was  peculiarly  from  her  heart  and 
of  the  best,  and  many  a  young  man  with  literary  aspiration 
did  not  live  to  see  twenty-five.  Such  losses  cannot  be  esti- 
mated, but  they  are  to  be  felt  and  measured,  nevertheless,  for 
a  succeeding  generation.  Then  following  upon  this  struggle 
came  a  second  and  more  bitter  struggle  —  a  fearful  blight.  It 
was  not  merely  that  of  poverty;  it  was  the  demands  of  entirely 
changed  conditions  of  living  upon  the  survivors,  struggling  at 
the  same  time  for  bare  existence  even.  For,  in  a  pathetic 
sentence,  attributed  to  Sidney  Lanier,  concerning  the  decade 
immediately  after  the  War:  "With  us  in  the  South  it  has  been 
for  the  past  ten  years  a  question  simply  of  not  dying."  Out  of 
these  conditions  in  a  whole  section  of  country  a  new  literature 
was  to  spring.  The  wonder  of  it  all  is  that  when  it  came  it  was 
so  spontaneous,  so  rich,  so  full  of  life  and  hope! 

There  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  great  change  wrought  by  the 
War  between  the  States  everywhere  in  America.  This  conse- 
quently finds  its  purest  expression  in  American  literature.  This 
war  makes  a  true  line  of  demarcation  between  the  old  and  the 
new.  Its  close  introduced  a  period  of  great  expansion  and  de- 
velopment and  change  everywhere.  In  literature  it  was  a  for- 
mative period.  Run  over  the  files  of  the  current  magazines  and 
periodicals  of  the  time,  and  you  can  read  between  the  lines 
and  discern  the  high  color,  the  unsettled  condition,  the  ex- 
aggerations, and  the  alarms  everywhere.  But  just  as  in  the 
turmoil  of  the  Middle  Ages  the  roots  of  the  Renaissance  struck 
deep,  so  on  a  less  scale  the  disturbances  of  the  War  contributed 
to  the  soil  nourishment  for  the  rejuvenating,  creative  epoch  to 
follow.  Historic  consciousness  was  bound  to  grow:  there  was 
history  from  whatever  side  one  viewed  it.  The  Nation  was 
shaken  to  its  centre,  and  the  people  stirred  to  the  quick.  The 
soil  and  atmosphere  were  formed.     The  national  sense  was  de- 


SOUTHERN     LITERATURE  208 

veloped,  and  literature  was  the  gainer.  National  feeling  exulted 
on  one  side ;  on  the  other  the  love  of  old  traits  and  affection  for 
their  characteristic  types.  Both  necessarily  aided  in  inducing 
the  romantic  cast  of  mind.  Hope  and  self-reliance  were  present 
to  the  youth  everywhere.  The  spirit  of  expansion  naturally 
ushered  in  an  epoch  of  travel,  and  we  consequently  find  de- 
scriptions in  abundance,  telling  of  spots  and  corners  unvisited 
and  unknown  before.  The  sense  of  isolation  was  being  done 
away  with;  the  connection  with  the  rest  of  the  world  becoming 
closer.  The  spirit  of  provincialism  was  gradually  passing.  The 
American  tourist  began  traveling  over  the  globe  and  revealing 
new  phases  of  civilization ;  the  American  engineer  penetrated  to 
the  heart  of  the  wilderness  in  his  own  country,  and  left  no  waste 
places.  A  romantic  revival  in  American  literature  was  most 
natural  and  inevitable. 

Side  by  side  with  this,  and  apparently  very  contradictory,  in 
that  part  of  the  country  most  settled  in  its  economic  and  social 
conditions  and  least  affected  by  these  movements  of  expansion 
as  was  the  great  West,  and  least  influenced  by  the  changes  in 
social  and  physical  being  as  was  the  South,  there  arose  at  the 
same  time  in  New  England  the  beginnings  of  a  school  of  analy- 
sis and  dissection  in  fiction.  But  even  in  New  England  at  first, 
as  in  other  parts  of  the  country,  the  native  romance  in  localities 
was  finding  utterance.  The  early  effects  of  the  War  were  seen. 
There  had  sprung  up  a  general  interest  in  the  varied  phases  of 
American  manhood  thrown  together  at  haphazard  in  the  camps. 
Old  types  in  odd  corners  were  studied  anew,  and  fresh  types 
were  revealed. 

Thus  after  1865  and  before  1870,  appeared  Mrs.  Stowe's  "Old 
Town  Folks,"  descriptive  of  New  England  village  life,  Mr. 
Aldrich's  "The  Story  of  a  Bad  Boy,"  Whittier's  "Snow  Bound," 
an  idyl  of  New  England,  and  his  "Ballads  of  New  England," 
and  Longfellow's  "New  England  Tragedies."  All  were  roman- 
tic and  sprang  from  their  soil  and  section.  The  same  note 
echoes  over  the  land.  Even  Mr.  Howells  begins  his  literary 
career  poetically  enough  in  describing  his  "Venetian  Days" 
and   "Italian    Journeys."     Parkman    is    portraying  with   pic- 


204  THE    NATIONAL    ELEMENT    IN 

turesque  vividness  the  history  of  French  possession  in  the  new 
world.  A  voice  from  the  far  West,  in  California,  finding  a  new 
material,  striking  full  upon  this  native  note,  and  recognizing  an 
essentially  fitting  form  in  the  short  story,  is  obtaining  recogni- 
tion in  Bret  Harte.  Of  writings  in  the  South,  Sidney  Lanier's 
"Tiger  Lilies,"  imperfect  as  it  is,  was  perhaps  the  only  signifi- 
cant publication  in  those  first  five  years  after  the  War.  How 
silent  is  the  voice  of  a  whole  section  of  people!  They  were 
struggling  for  bare  existence  even,  as  Lanier  had  put  it. 

Not  until  after  1870  does  the  new  Southern  literature  begin  — 
the  year  in  which  the  two  recognized  leaders  of  the  past,  John 
Pendleton  Kennedy  and  William  Gilmore  Simms,  both  died. 
It  was  also  the  year  of  the  death  of  Judge  A.  B.  Longstreet,  the 
author  of  "Georgia  Scenes,"  those  frank  expressions  of  home 
growth.  That  too  was  the  year  of  the  death  of  Gen.  Robert 
E.  Lee,  at  the  head  of  Washington  College,  Virginia.  Nothing 
emphasizes  more  the  fact  that  the  old  was  over.  The  new  was 
looked  forward  to,  half  fearfully  almost. 

The  half  decade  of  years  before  the  centennial  celebration  of 
the  Declaration  of  Independence  in  1876,  rounds  out  the  Nation's 
century  of  existence.  With  this  sense  of  fullness  literature  in 
America  takes  firmer  hold.  The  contrast  is  growing  between 
the  warm,  full-blooded  romantic  spirit  and  the  more  cold,  though 
scientific  and  subtle,  analysis  of  realism.  The  strife  becomes 
at  times  even  acrimonious.  The  sway  of  the  analytic  school  of 
fiction  in  New  England  shows  that  the  domination  of  the  past 
singers  and  prophets,  the  generation  of  Longfellow  and  Whittier 
and  Emerson,  is  over.  Other  ideas  have  taken  their  place,  and 
new  writers  have  supplanted  them  in  controlling  taste.  A  de- 
parting note,  though  a  full  one,  is  struck  in  Emerson's  "Society 
and  Solitude"  in  this  same  year,  1870.  The  new  method  is 
seen  in  Mr.  Howells,  who  for  both  art  and  conscience's  sake 
entered  upon  a  career  of  novel-writing  and  propagandism.  With 
Mr.  James  he  announced  for  American  fiction  the  more  philo- 
sophic doctrine  of  naturalism  and  realism  —  a  means  obtained 
by  analysis  of  motive  and  character  and  study  of  environment, 
as  apart  from  more  imaginative  story-telling.     It  is  interesting 


SOUTHERN     LITERATURE  Mi 

to  note  that  neither  Mr.  Howells  nor  Mr.  James,  at  this  time  so 
closely  identified  with  Boston  and  the  Atlantic  Monthly  in  their 
work,  was  of  New  England  birth,  and  the  spirits  these  conjured 
had  little  kinship  with  Hawthorne's  Salem  witches;  they  were 
not  of  American  raising,  but  were  the  results  of  wider  ac- 
quaintance with  the  schools  and  systems:  they  were  foreign, 
but  were  meant  to  be  world-wide;  they  were  not  native,  but 
sought  to  escape  the  local  and  provincial. 

In  sharp  contrast,  beyond  the  Hudson,  the  newly  discovered 
types  through  the  slowly  evolving  South  and  over  the  rapidly 
developing  West  take  on  a  local  and  native  and  more  romantic 
setting.  This  spirit  becomes  particularly  strong  in  the  South, 
and  ultimately  receives  there  perhaps  its  finest  and  freest  ex- 
pression. This  movement  in  American  letters  —  a  momentous 
one  for  the  development  of  our  national  life  and  spirit  in  the 
twenty  critical  years  from  1870  to  1890  —  cannot  be  understood 
without  the  clear  recognition  of  the  importance  of  the  Southern 
writers  and  some  little  study  of  the  significance  of  the  Southern 
romantic  spirit.  There  had  been  hardly  an  issue  of  a  typical 
magazine  like  the  Century  for  ten  or  fifteen  years  without  a  native 
romantic  story,  and  that  usually  a  Southern  one.  So  completely 
did  this  movement  dominate  the  American  thought  and  output  of 
the  time!  This  is  the  true  significance  and  glory  of  the  new 
Southern  literature.  Its  weakness  was  the  prevalence  of  dialect 
and  a  seeming  aversion  from  characters  who  spoke  even  the  ele- 
ments of  the  King's  English.  But  even  in  this  particular  the 
dialect  was  at  first  used  not  as  an  end  in  itself,  but  as  a  means 
of  interpreting  more  directly  both  native  character  and  actual 
life.  As  a  frank  revelation  of  fresh  modes  of  national  life  and 
thought,  even  dialect  could  find  its  justification.  Here  was 
something  admittedly  spontaneous  and  rich,  racy  of  the  soil  and 
filled  with  warmth  and  color  —  for,  if  one  may  be  permitted  the 
reference,  there  is  plenty  of  both  in  the  South  —  and  in  how- 
ever narrow  and  restricted  a  sphere,  it  represented  an  American 
spirit  at  last.  And  thus  by  an  apparent  paradox  the  spirit  of 
this  literature  in  the  South  became  for  a  time  in  certain  aspects 
the  least  sectional  and  the  most  representative  and  national. 


206  THE    NATIONAL    ELEMENT    IN 

This  native  spirit  became  exemplified  in  many  places  and  in 
many  ways,  for  it  is  not  intended  to  assert  that  it  was  not  else- 
where too;  the  meaning  is  solely  to  emphasize  this  literary 
movement  in  the  South  in  its  relation  to  the  national  movement 
going  on.  From  California  came  Bret  Harte's  "The  Luck  of 
Roaring  Camp"  and  "The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat."  In  Indiana 
appeared  Edward  Eggleston's  "The  Hoosier  Schoolmaster" 
and  "The  End  of  the  World."  Mark  Twain  gave  experiences 
of  the  far  West  in  "Roughing  It."  Charles  Dudley  Warner  re- 
vealed a  new  and  delightful  vein  in  "My  Summer  in  a  Garden" 
and  in  "Backlog  Studies."  John  Burroughs  was  poetically  alive 
to  Nature,  whether  in  birds  or  in  poets,  both  songsters.  Mr. 
Aldrich  continued  in  "Marjorie  Daw;"  Miss  Alcott  presented 
to  childhood  "Little  Men"  and  "Little  Women;"  Mr.  Stedman 
stimulated  American  criticism  of  American  poets  in  a  frankly 
sympathetic  and  graceful  vein. 

The  new  era  was  first  fully  announced  with  the  spirit  of  the 
centennial  year  of  1876.  Literature  in  the  South,  showing 
feeble  signs  here  and  there,  grew  bolder  and  more  conscious. 
It  was  well  for  our  common  country  and  for  the  fostering  of  the 
national  sentiment  that  so  closely  upon  Appomattox,  the  tragic 
close  of  one  war,  followed  at  Yorktown  the  celebration  of  the 
close  of  another.  Between  1865,  the  close  of  the  Civil  War,  and 
1875,  the  year  of  the  first  centennial  celebration  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, there  was  but  a  brief  decade.  At  the  centennial  of  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  written  by  a  Virginian,  who 
could  deny  a  Virginian  and  any  Southerner  a  welcome  to  the 
centennial  city?  There  followed  the  era  of  good  feeling;  then 
it  was  made  possible  that  in  a  short  time  after  division  a  closely 
contested  national  election  could  be  held ;  then  all  sections  be- 
came represented  once  more  in  the  President's  Cabinet  by  the 
selection  of  a  Tennesseean. 

The  feelings  of  the  War  had  mellowed  and  fallen  into  retro- 
spect, and  one  could  write  tenderly  and  with  full  pathos  of  its 
romance  and  its  tragedy.  The  beginnings  of  a  new  national  life 
and  literature  and  of  Southern  literature  in  national  aspects  had 
become  possible.     A  Virginian  writer,  John  Esten  Cooke,  could 


SOUTHERN     LITERATURE  207 

drop  awhile  stories  of  war  time  and  go  back  to  the  colonial  days 
held  in  common  by  all.  A  new  writer,  Mr.  Thomas  Nelson 
Page,  could  become  introduced  to  literature  and  draw  inspiration 
by  describing  Yorktown  and  Old  Virginia  at  the  time  of  the 
Revolution.  Societies  of  the  Revolution  soon  sprang  up,  ce- 
menting national  life  over  the  country,  looking  away  from  the 
struggle  of  State  against  State  to  the  previous  common  struggle 
side  by  side.  A  new  era  had  arrived  for  the  whole  country,  and 
gloriously  did  Southern  letters  appropriate  its  spirit.  New 
names  were  to  become  known,  older  ones  were  to  gain  fresh  lustre. 
It  was  a  time  when  a  new  generation  was  preparing  for  college, 
and  those  who  had  just  entered  the  University  of  Virginia  —  so 
long  representative  of  the  best  in  the  South — when  the  surrender 
at  Yorktown  was  celebrated  will  recall  how  with  a  thrill  the 
Southern  young  manhood  at  Alma  Mater  rejoiced  that  this 
was  their  inheritance  too,  not  to  be  taken  away. 

The  centennial  year,  1876,  saw  also  the  beginnings  of  a  new 
educational  movement  and  of  higher  ideals  of  scholarship  and 
culture.  It  was  the  year  of  the  opening  of  Johns  Hopkins  Uni- 
versity, in  Baltimore,  halfway  between  North  and  South,  the 
first  instance  of  German  university  methods  fully  applied  to 
American  conditions,  destined  to  revolutionize  the  attitude  of 
education  in  America  and  particularly  to  exert  a  deep  influence 
upon  the  training  of  young  Southern  scholars.  The  most 
notable  member  of  its  literary  faculty,  Dr.  Gildersleeve,  was 
brought  from  the  University  of  Virginia  as  professor  of  Greek. 
It  was  also  the  year  of  the  opening  of  Vanderbilt  University  in 
Tennessee,  near  the  centre  of  the  Southern  Mississippi  Valley. 
The  University  of  the  South,  at  Sewanee,  theTulane  University, 
in  New  Orleans,  as  well  as  the  new  development  of  Washington 
and  Lee  University,  in  Virginia,  were  all  growths  mainly  of  this 
later  period;  and  most  of  the  Southern  State  universities  and 
private  colleges  gradually  mapped  out  new  and  more  modern 
lines  of  development.  Particularly  the  new  movement  of  the 
study  of  English  in  the  South,  first  distinctly  promulgated  in 
1 868  by  the  late  Prof.  Thomas  R.  Price— who  was  then  at  Ran- 
dolph-Macon College,  Virginia,  and  who  died  the  oldest  member 


208  THE    NATIONAL    ELEMENT    IN 

of  the  Department  of  English  in  Columbia  University,  New 
York  —  spread  and  vitalized  continually  in  the  hands  of  his 
pupils  new  centres  over  the  Southern  country. 

Keenest  of  all,  the  national  centennial  year,  1876,  strengthened 
the  voice  of  the  new  Southern  literature.  It  was  the  year  of 
Mark  Twain's  "Tom  Sawyer,"  his  most  characteristic  sketch 
of  Mississippi  River  reminiscence.  "The  Centennial  Cantata" 
was  written  by  the  Southern  poet,  Sidney  Lanier,  whose  sym- 
phony of  "Corn,"  uniting  intense  local  color  with  a  classical 
spirit,  had  appeared  but  a  year  before.  This  centennial  year 
was  also  the  year  of  the  publication  of  Lanier's  poems,  the 
chiefest  expression  of  poetic  feeling  in  the  South,  and  one  of 
the  most  original  and  intense  the  entire  country  could  claim 
apart  from  Poe.  That  it  was  not  permitted  Lanier  to  enter 
upon  the  land  he  confidently  hoped  and  battled  for,  made  his 
position  all  the  more  notable.  To  him  was  decreed  not  the 
victor's  wreath,  but  the  martyr's  crown.  Like  some  Moses,  he 
was  permitted  only  to  view  afar  off  from  the  mountain  top  the 
glories  of  hopes  he  felt  some  day  must  be  realized.  His  early 
end  was  prophetic.  In  the  pathos  of  his  struggling  life,  checked 
by  untoward  conditions  and  thwarted  by  ill  health,  in  spite  of 
which  he  still  achieved,  there  was  revealed  all  the  more  clearly 
the  symphony  utterance  of  the  emotions  that  passed  delicately 
yet  deeply  across  his  soul. 

The  influence  spread  rapidly.  Before  1881,  the  year  both  of 
the  celebration  at  Yorktown  and  of  Lanier's  death,  Cable  had 
finished  his  early  and  best-known  works:  "Old  Creole  Days," 
"The  Grandissimes,"  and  "Madame  Delphine."  Richard  Mal- 
colm Johnston's  stories  were  characterizing  Middle  Georgia 
cracker  life  —  the  Middle  Georgia  of  the  former  "Georgia 
Scenes"  and  "Major  Jones's  Courtship. "  From  the  same  Middle 
Georgia  section  came  "Uncle  Remus,"  and  the  grown-up  boys 
of  the  South  of  all  ages  smiled  tenderly  once  more  at  the  recol- 
lection of  negro  'mammies'  and  'uncles'  and  the  sunshiny  and 
rainy  days  of  youth,  which  they  too  had  passed  in  the  company 
of  Brer  Rabbit.  The  East  Tennessee  mountaineer  was  brought 
out  as  picturesquely  as  his  surrounding  landscape  in  the  pages  of 


SOUTHERN     LITERATURE  209 

Charles  Egbert  Craddock.  Virginia  contributed  the  spiritual 
record  of  the  war  fought  on  her  soil,  and  the  tender  relationship 
that  existed  between  man  and  master  in  Mr.  Page's  "Marse 
Chan"  and  "Meh  Lady."  And  not  long  after  the  Kentucky 
blue  grass  land  was  to  take  up  the  note  in  Mr.  James  Lane 
Allen.  Those  were  the  first  glorious  summer  days  of  Southern 
letters. 

Other  sections  moved  in  the  spirit,  using  a  native  and  ro- 
mantic background  for  the  portrayal  of  the  varied  phases  of 
American  life  and  experience.  There  were  the  verses  of  James 
Whitcomb  Riley  and  H.  C.  Bunner,  and  later  came  Brander 
Matthews's  "Vignettes  of  Manhattan"  and  Hamlin  Garland's 
"Main  Traveled  Roads"  and  Eugene  Field's  lyrics  with 
America  writ  large  in  varied  characters.  Stockton  sometimes 
went  deliberately  southward  to  Virginia  for  his  setting;  and 
Maurice  Thompson,  from  his  Georgia  and  Confederate  ex- 
periences, told  some  of  the  best  of  all  negro  dialect  tales.  A 
little  later  in  the  South  were  the  stories  of  H.  S.  Edwards  from 
the  same  Middle  Georgia  section  of  watermelon,  peaches,  darky, 
and  mule;  the  scenes  of  John  Fox,  Jr.,  in  the  mountains  of 
Kentucky  ("On  Hell-for-Sartain  Creek"  admits  an  epic  breadth 
in  four  pages);  the  character  sketches  of  Miss  Grace  King, 
Mrs.  Stuart,  and  Mrs.  Davis  in  New  Orleans;  new  pictures  of 
Old  Virginia  by  Mrs.  Burton  Harrison;  stories  of  Tennessee 
mountain  life  by  Miss  Sarah  Barnwell  Elliott,  of  Sewanee;  Mr. 
Harben's  stories  of  Northern  Georgia;  the  society  verse  of 
Samuel  Minturn  Peck;  the  dainty  stanzas  of  Father  Tabb;  and 
the  more  thrilling  and  dramatic  notes  of  Madison  Cawein. 

The  style  of  romantic  fiction  steadily  —  perhaps  too  steadily  — 
persisted ;  but  the  people,  like  those  of  England  before  them  in 
the  case  of  Dickens's  London  creations,  recognized  it  as  their 
own  and  did  not  tire.  They  insistently  refused  to  learn  from 
the  critics  and  the  fashions  on  the  Continent.  Then  was  ushered 
in  the  wave  of  romance  over  the  country.  No  American  novel 
much  talked  about  but  was  romantic  and  historical.  Taking  a 
time  but  five  or  six  years  back,  the  leaders  of  1897  were  Dr. 
Mitchell's  "Hugh  Wynne"  and  Mr.  Allen's  "The  Choir  In- 
«5 


210  THE    NATIONAL    ELEMENT    IN 

visible."  Both  had  the  native,  historic,  romantic  setting,  and 
went  back  whether  in  Philadelphia  or  in  Kentucky  to  the  days 
of  the  fathers  of  the  republic.  For  the  next  year,  1898,  Mr. 
Page's  "Red  Rock"  was  a  story  of  the  South  under  Re- 
construction. And  then  in  1899  and  1900  the  novel-reading 
public  saw  the  phenomenal  advertising  and  sale  of  "David 
Harum,"  "Richard  Carvel,"  "Janice  Meredith,"  and  "To  Have 
and  to  Hold."  The  secret  of  "David  Harum's"  hold  upon  the 
people  was  the  same  native  flavor,  the  portrayal  of  an  elemental 
and  universal  character  —  a  character  that  smacked  not  of  Cen- 
tral New  York  alone,  but  could  have  come  from  anywhere  in  any 
of  our  states.  Such  a  conception  was  closely  akin  in  method 
to  many  of  the  characters  and  oddities  portrayed  in  Southern 
life,  and  in  its  very  defects  and  limitations  was  intensely 
American.  "Richard  Carvel"  was  of  colonial  Maryland  amid  all 
the  largeness  of  outline  and  careless  ease  of  a  Southern  colony. 
"Janice  Meredith"  might  have  gained  her  name  farther  South  — 
for  both  were  good  Virginian,  and  pace  the  dedication,  some  of 
the  sunlight  from  the  terraces  of  Mr.  Vanderbilt's  estate  of 
Biltmore,  in  the  Western  Carolina  mountains,  may  have  been 
caught  and  become  confined  within  its  pages.  "To  Have  and 
to  Hold"  was  a  full-length  picture  of  a  colony  of  cavaliers. 
Maurice  Thompson's  story  of  the  original  Virginian  Territory 
Northwest  of  the  Ohio,  "Alice  of  Old  Vincennes,"  was  of  the 
same  general  class.  So  far  did  the  movement  take  hold  that  the 
Century  Magazine  denominated  its  leading  feature  for  1901  "a 
year  of  romance."  The  strength  of  the  same  movement 
appeared  in  works  like  Mr.  Churchill's  "The  Crisis,"  por- 
traying St.  Louis,  and  Mr.  Stephenson's  "They  That  Took  the 
Sword,"  picturing  Cincinnati,  both  border  cities  in  border 
states,  in  war  time.  Mr.  Cable's  "The  Cavalier"  was  a  tale  of 
war  and  love  with  a  New  Orleans  regiment  doing  service  in 
Mississippi.  And  at  the  present  Kentucky  emphasizes  its  happy 
central  position  as  a  promise  for  a  centre  of  literary  endeavor, 
both  for  the  South  and  the  country,  not  only  in  the  more  serious 
workers  already  named,  Mr.  Cawein  in  verse  and  Mr.  Allen  in 
prose,  but  also  in  instances  like  Mrs.  Nancy  Huston  Banks's 


SOUTHERN     LITERATURE  211 

"Oldfield,"  the  Kentucky  "Cranford,"  and  in  the  authors  of 
those  uneuphonious  feminine,  but  very  characteristic  Dick- 
ensy  sketches,  "Juletty,"  "Mrs.  Wiggs,"  "Lovey  Mary,"  and 
"Emmy  Lou." 

Despite  the  fickleness  of  popular  impulse,  and  apart  from 
the  question  whether  the  supply  both  of  the  dialect  story 
and  the  historical  novel  be  already  exhausted,  this  eagerness 
and  enthusiasm  of  the  American  public  disclose  a  craving  in 
the  popular  heart.  The  inherent  weakness  is  that  this  order  of 
work  is  not  necessarily  in  the  line  of  development  toward  some- 
thing else,  something  better  and  greater,  but  it  constitutes  a 
species  and  end  in  itself  and  yields  itself  too  obviously  to  imita- 
tion. Nevertheless  the  paths  mapped  out  in  historical  romance 
are  as  old  as  Scott  and  Dumas  and  as  modern  as  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson,  and  herein  lies  one  of  the  roads  toward  creating  a 
national  literature.  To  become  national,  a  literature  must  draw 
succulence  from  the  roots  of  past  achievement  and  the  spirit  of 
former  generations.  And  readers  of  the  late  Mr.  Fiske's 
volumes  know  that  no  history  is  more  romantic  in  setting  and 
more  rich  in  literary  possibility,  more  distinctly  national  in 
elements  and  character,  than  the  early  heroic  living  of  "Virginia 
and  Her  Neighbors,"  and  the  history  of  the  planting  and  form- 
ing of  the  various  English,  Spanish,  French,  Indian,  and  Negro 
Southern  and  Southwestern  colonies  in  America. 

In  this  school  of  rich  color  and  imagination  Southern  intensity 
and  depth  and  emotion  and  Western  unconventional ity  and 
largeness  have  played  a  leading  part.  Less  artistic,  beyond 
doubt,  than  the  calmer  perfection  of  the  New  England  school  of 
objective  analysis  —  a  very  important  source  of  influence  and 
one  more  in  consonance  with  contemporary  world  thought  and 
in  advance  telling  of  the  morrow  —  yet  it  possessed  at  least  the 
personal  appeal.  Looking  at  the  history  of  the  actual  move- 
ments and  the  obvious  feelings  of  the  American  people,  apart 
from  any  theory  as  to  what  might  or  ought  to  be,  there  has  been 
an  essential  difference  in  the  appeal  of  the  two  schools. 

The  principle  may  be  illustrated  with  a  comparison.  Before 
Shakespeare's  day  there  was  a  struggle  between  the  classic 


212  THE    NATIONAL    ELEMENT    IN 

imitators  and  the  native  romantic,  albeit  crude  and  exaggerated, 
English  spirit;  and  with  all  its  excesses,  nature  won!  So  the 
intensely  analytic  school  in  America,  however  painstaking  and 
studious  in  art,  has  seemed  to  the  people  too  impersonal,  has 
borrowed  its  impulse  from  foreign  sources  —  from  George  Eliot 
in  England,  from  Tolstoy  in  Russia,  from  Zola  in  France,  and 
from  Ibsen  in  Norway.  While  less  significant  in  meaning  and 
in  power,  the  more  romantic  school  was  yet  native  in  the  hearts 
of  the  American  people,  sprang  spontaneous  from  American 
soil,  and  struck  roots  deep  down  into  American  life.  It  was 
following  the  example  of  its  early  masters :  of  Irving  and  Cooper 
and  Hawthorne  and  Poe.  And  it  was  geographically  located 
everywhere:  in  New  England  and  in  New  York,  in  Virginia 
and  Kentucky  and  Tennessee  and  Georgia  and  Louisiana,  in 
Indiana  and  in  California.  It  was  the  buoyancy  of  American 
manhood  finding  utterance;  it  was  the  expression  of  reflections 
passing  over  the  soul  of  American  life.  It  has  not  been  the  full 
accomplishment,  it  has  not  become  formulated  into  a  system  in 
its  great  variety  of  utterance;  but  it  has  shown  at  least  the  rich 
world  of  native  and  national  material.  It  has  been  a  new  world 
entered  upon  in  the  new  century  of  national  existence.  The 
American  centennial  of  1876  opened  the  gates  of  the  Nation 
wide;  the  heart  of  the  people  responded.  American  life  was 
obtaining  a  distinctive  expression  in  its  literature.  Could  it 
only  continue  in  its  advance  to  something  higher! 

Has  that  something  higher  come  ?  Has  the  advance  been  a 
steady  one  ?  Is  it  that  the  soil  is  not  yet  deep  enough  ?  Is  it 
that  we  are  a  new  country  ?  Is  our  material  poorer  ?  Is  in- 
spiration crushed  by  untoward  circumstances  and  want  of 
nourishment?  Are  the  moods  so  compelling?  Are  culture  and 
interest  in  the  problems  of  life  deep,  genuine,  unmistakable, 
true?  Is  education  faulty?  Are  our  universities  devoted  to 
over-specialization,  and  while  the  practical  knowledge  of  doing 
things  and  matters  of  technical  investigation  are  unquestionably 
advanced,  the  higher  creative  work  and  the  literary  spirit  oft- 
times  restrained  ?  While  we  seem  to  have  better  training  than 
ever,  is  true  culture  a  matter  of  such  slow  growth  that  another 


SOUTHERN     LITERATURE  213 

half  dozen  and  more  generations  are  needed  to  nurture  it  ?  Is  it 
that  the  paths  followed  permit  of  a  certain  development,  but 
forbid  greater  reaches?  An  undiscovered  country  had  been 
revealed  and  roamed  through,  but  there  did  not  always  follow 
more  careful  draughting  and  added  power  of  characterization. 
The  same  types  were  too  often  repeated  and  the  sense  of  fresh- 
ness and  novelty  was  gone.  Is  it  that  the  romantic  tendency 
must  be  restrained  by  the  laws  of  growth  in  thought,  experience, 
and  art,  by  more  highly  intellectual  powers  and  thus  by  an 
approach  to  more  analytical  and  realistic  work  ?  Is  it  that  the 
intense  sociological  and  spiritual  ideas  characteristic  of  the  new 
century  are  forcing  themselves  also  into  a  New  South  and  an 
expanding  West  and  casting  out  romantic  dreams  and  ideals,  as 
is  seen  conspicuously  and  curiously  in  the  evolution  of  the 
stories  of  Mr.  James  Lane  Allen  ? 

In  any  case,  the  decade  after  1886  must  be  confessed  as  a 
whole  to  have  been  one  of  rebound.  The  promise  was  not  alto- 
gether kept  up.  Our  American  writing,  like  our  American  life, 
did  not  develop  in  all  directions,  but  had  to  confess  its  limita- 
tions. It  could  often  produce  the  successful  short  story,  but  not 
the  long  novel;  it  would  inspire  a  quatrain  and  a  sonnet  in 
verse,  but  not  sustain  a  long  narrative  or  complete  dramatic 
poem.  But  the  outward  flow  of  the  tide  was  again  American 
and  not  merely  Southern.  The  South  shared  in  a  common  de- 
pression and  weakening  with  other  parts  of  the  country.  The 
two  cannot  be  looked  at  except  as  closely  conjoined ;  for  the  law 
of  development  and  influence  and  evolution  is  also  traceable  in 
literary  life. 

The  decade  from  1876  to  1886,  as  described,  was  the  period 
of  American  discovery  in  new  fields.  The  old  Scribners 
Monthly  could  change  its  name  to  The  Century,  and  boldly  de- 
clare an  advanced  patriotism.  It  raised  the  standards  of  belief 
in  a  native  literature,  and  for  a  time  promulgated  the  principle 
that  the  writing  in  its  pages  should  not  be  borrowed,  but  should 
be  our  own  —  it  should  henceforth  be  only  American  and  not, 
as  hitherto,  largely  British.  This  was  in  1880.  Verily,  the 
experiment   had  its  reward.     Mrs.  Burnett's  earliest  and  best 


214  THE    NATIONAL    ELEMENT    IN 

writing;  Mr.  Cable's  artistic  "Grandissimes"  and  "Madame 
Delphine;"  Mr.  Howells's  strong  pieces,  "A  Modern  Instance" 
and  "Silas  Lapham;"  Mr.  James's  "Bostonians;"  work  of  Mr. 
Harris,  Mr.  Allen,  Harry  S.  Edwards,  John  Fox,  Mrs.  Stuart — 
all  appeared  in  rapid  succession  in  that  one  publication.  Also, 
American  criticism  by  Stoddard  and  Stedman.  Edward  Eggle- 
ston's  colonial  sketches,  the  War  Series,  the  Life  of  Lincoln,  Joe 
Jefferson's  Autobiography,  numerous  history  sketches  and 
character  portrayals,  attempting  to  bring  out  national  life  and 
spirit,  appeared  rapidly  in  its  pages  and  gave  the  new  magazine 
the  character  its  name  hoped  to  illustrate.  However,  whether 
unfortunately  or  not  for  the  promise  of  this  national  movement 
then  so  earnestly  advocated,  this  magazine,  too,  later  receded 
from  its  first  strenuous  position  in  its  early  note  for  a  purely 
native  and  possibly  national  school  of  letters.  Yet  perhaps  its 
very  change  of  front  was  derived  from  a  greater  sense  of  security 
and  a  stronger  consciousness  of  what  literature  had  to  be. 

But  if  the  first  surprise  of  newness  and  originality  was  gone, 
yet  in  certain  directions  of  literary  and  intellectual  life  in  the 
Southern  States  there  has  been  steady  effort  crowned  with  the 
strength  of  growth  and  accomplishment.  True,  this  has  not 
always  been  with  an  even  advance  in  art,  but  certainly  with 
advance  in  energy  and  outlook  and  power  and  vitality. 

Among  instances  the  development  of  a  school  of  literary 
criticism  in  the  South  is  discernible.  Passing  over  Sidney 
Lanier's  lectures  about  1880  at  the  Johns  Hopkins  University 
on  "The  Science  of  English  Verse,"  "The  English  Novel,"  and 
"Shakespeare,"  important  in  the  history  of  American  criticism, 
but  isolated  phenomena  in  their  section,  there  have  been  recent 
appearances  which  promise  in  their  influence  to  be  the  source  of 
a  conscious  movement.  In  1892  appeared  the  "  Life  of  William 
Gilmore  Simms"  in  the  American  Men  of  Letters  series,  which 
became  a  study  of  former  general  Southern  literary  conditions. 
Its  author  was  Professor  Trent,  then  of  the  University  of  the 
South,  at  Sewanee.  Whatever  the  objections  raised  to  the  Simms 
volume,  it  was  a  brilliant  production  as  a  young  man's  first  effort, 
and  declared  that  a  school  of  criticism  was  forming  in  the  South. 


SOUTHERN     LITERATURE  216 

It  was  the  same  year,  1892,  that  The  Sewanee  Review  was 
started  under  Professor  Trent's  eye,  and  through  him  became  the 
chief,  and  for  a  time  the  only  critical  literary  mouthpiece  of  its 
section.  Five  years  later  appeared  the  first  serious  critical  con- 
tribution on  the  contemporary  literary  movement  in  the  South 
in  the  volume  on  "Southern  Writers"  by  Professor  Baskervill, 
of  Vanderbilt  University,  a  piece  of  work  unfortunately  left  in- 
complete by  the  author's  untimely  death,  but  carried  on  by  a 
number  of  his  pupils.  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  this  critical 
movement  thus  begun  has  been  associated  with  two  pupils  of 
Professor  Price  and  two  chairs  of  English  literature  in  neighbor- 
ing institutions,  representative  of  the  entire  Southern  country  in 
their  spirit  and  in  the  national  consciousness  of  their  work. 

In  its  educational  activity  the  South  has  contributed  some  of 
the  brightest  scholars  to  the  splendid  list  of  Johns  Hopkins 
alumni  during  its  first  quarter  of  a  century,  one  of  whom,  Dr. 
Woodrow  Wilson,  as  the  new  President  of  Princeton,  has  con- 
ceived his  opportunities  and  duties  in  a  national  sense.  As 
representative  of  a  thought  movement,  Mr.  Walter  H.  Page  has 
filled  the  editor's  chair  successively  of  the  Forum,  Atlantic 
Monthly,  and  The  World's  Work,  a  worker  in  the  broadest  and 
sincerest  national  feeling.  As  a  literary  and  historical  interest, 
chairs  of  English  Literature  and  of  History  are  receiving  the 
greatest  emphasis  in  nearly  every  Southern  college  and  uni- 
versity, and  their  work  is  usually  conceived  beyond  the  sec- 
tional on  behalf  of  the  national  ideal  and  the  widest  appeal. 
The  emphasis  of  truth  and  principle,  the  production  of  men 
of  culture,  and  the  conquering  of  provinciality,  are  objects  of 
their  untiring  effort  Indeed,  this  intense  literary  and  historical 
interest  now  manifest  at  a  number  of  points  in  the  Southern 
States,  and  particularly  the  number  of  historical  publications, 
ought  to  prove,  despite  all  deficiencies  and  limitations  of  sphere, 
an  important  means  whereby  a  true  development  may  ultimately 
be  assured. 

Similar  signs  are  discernible  in  the  more  special  field  of 
creative  literature.  It  is  hardly  six  years  ago,  in  1897,  that  both 
Mr.  Allen  and  Mr.  Harris,  and  a  year  later  Mr.  Page — all  of 


216  THE    NATIONAL    ELEMENT    IN 

whom  are  still  actively  engaged  in  writing  —  published  their 
first  long  stories.  Two  years  later,  in  1899,  Miss  Johnston's 
first  courageous  bid  for  recognition  was  a  complete  novel, 
followed  at  once  by  a  serial  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  "To  Have 
and  To  Hold,"  with  the  promise  of  its  splendidly  audacious 
opening  chapters  hardly  fulfilled.  Hitherto  the  new  movement 
in  Southern  letters,  apart  from  Mr.  Cable's  noble  "Grandissimes," 
had  been  too  far  restricted  to  the  limits  of  the  short  story. 
These  writers  now  wished  to  show  their  added  strength — that 
their  flights  could  be  sustained  through  an  entire  volume. 

In  the  steady  growth  and  increase  in  strength  of  two  writers 
like  Mr.  Harris  and  Mr.  Allen  through  a  number  of  years  lies 
the  greatest  promise  for  the  future.  Literature  is  made  the 
serious  business  of  life.  No  more  unwearying  student  of  local 
color  and  of  elemental  human  nature  can  be  found  in  America 
to-day  than  Mr.  Joel  Chandler  Harris.  The  best-known  of  his 
early  works,  "Uncle  Remus,"  as  I  had  occasion  to  say  in 
another  paper,  was  a  contribution  to  the  folk-lore  of  the  world. 
It  was  the  happy  intuition  of  genius  to  record  and  invent  these 
sayings  and  doings  of  Brer  Fox  and  Brer  Rabbit,  and  such 
finds  are  not  of  every  day.  But  Mr.  Harris  is  also  portraying 
other  life  about  him  which  he  sees  and  knows  as  no  other.  His 
later  work,  such  as  "The  Chronicles  of  Aunt  Minervy  Ann" 
and  other  pieces,  places  him  as  a  portrayer  of  character  and 
observer  of  human  nature,  as  well  as  reproducer  of  setting  in 
an  interesting  phase  and  period  of  Southern  and  American  life, 
among  the  leaders  of  our  contemporary  fiction. 

The  case  of  Mr.  Allen  is,  in  many  ways,  even  more  significant. 
It  is  not  simply  that  his  boyhood  suffered  from  the  effects  of 
war,  and  that  by  a  severe  moral  struggle  he  has  made  his  literary 
life  his  own.  It  is  not  that  he  has  been  a  teacher  and  a  college 
professor,  though  perhaps  there  can  be  traced  the  care  and  self- 
criticism  that  this  experience  has  likewise  taught.  He  possesses 
natural  gifts,  and  he  has  conserved  them  and  trained  them.  He 
belongs  almost  wholly  to  the  period  after  1886,  and  atones  for 
much  else  lacking  in  Southern  letters  in  it.  Distinct  stages  may 
be  traced  in  his  development,  so  marked  has  been  the  evolution 


SOUTHERN     LITERATURE  217 

in  himself,  as  in  his  work.  There  was  the  early  period,  the 
"Flute  and  Violin"  stories,  the  expression  of  the  romance  in 
early  Kentucky  life.  This  was  also  the  period  of  "  The  White 
Cowl"  and  "Sister  Dolorosa,"  tender  in  their  romantic  setting. 
Then  "A  Kentucky  Cardinal,"  with  its  sequel  "Aftermath," 
overwhelmed  us  with  surprise  to  find  that  the  author  knew  and 
loved  his  trees  and  birds  as  closely  as  a  sympathetic  lover  and 
follower  of  Audubon,  who  had  roamed  these  same  woods  before, 
and  furthermore  that  he  was  a  true  poet  in  his  interpretation  of 
them.  The  notes  of  a  deepening  change  are  already  upon  him 
in  this  work.  He  is  leaving  romance  and  is  putting  himself  in 
closer  spiritual  union  with  Nature  and  her  phases,  which  will  lead 
him  ultimately  to  Science  and  her  laws.  "Summer  in  Arcady" 
was  therefore  an  obvious  experiment,  struggling  to  escape  past 
conventions  and  to  enter  upon  newer  and  wider  reaches  of  art. 
It  was  in  this  expanding  effort  that  Mr.  Allen  completed  his  first 
long  novel,  "The  Choir  Invisible,"  based  upon  an  earlier  love 
story,  "John  Gray,"  but  now  heightened  and  filled  with  an  added 
historical  background  and  local  color,  as  national  in  its  impor- 
tance for  the  beginnings  of  Kentucky  and  the  West  as  Haw- 
thorne's work  for  early  New  England.  It  is  Mr.  Allen's  one 
leaning  toward  the  prevailing  fashion  of  the  historical  romance, 
which,  indeed,  writing  before  1897,  he  in  a  measure  anticipates. 
But  Mr.  Allen  could  not  be  confined  to  the  local  and  his- 
torical. The  growing  impelling  forces  of  universal  thought 
seize  him,  with  a  power  implied  in  the  very  title  of  his  latest 
published  work,  "The  Reign  of  Law,"  a  tale  of  the  Kentucky 
hemp  fields.  Whether  it  is  successful  in  all  it  undertakes  to 
portray  or  not — and  perhaps  the  problems  are  too  deep  to  be 
fully  answered  in  any  work  of  fiction  —  the  volume  is  significant 
as  a  study  in  the  unfolding  and  conflict  of  principles  and  beliefs 
in  an  expanding  life.  It  is  the  evolution  and  play  of  forces 
continually  going  on  in  Kentucky  and  Southern  and  American 
thought  and  life  that  Mr.  Allen  is  seeking  to  present  It  is  this 
spirit  of  constant  change  and  growth  all  about  us  that  has  taken 
hold  upon  him,  and  no  two  books  of  his  can  be  said  to  be 
formed  quite  in  the  same  mould. 


218  THE    NATIONAL    ELEMENT    IN 

The  same  significance  of  a  deeper  psychology,  a  questioning 
of  certain  phases  that  life  presents,  is  discerned  in  the  works  of 
Miss  Ellen  Glasgow,  of  Virginia.  Crude  perhaps  in  the 
beginning,  they  yet  reveal  growing  intellectual  power  in 
grappling  with  problems  that  press  upon  her.  She  is  alive  to 
the  thought  of  the  world  and  is  attempting  to  give  it  expression 
as  suggested  in  her  own  environment.  Other  recent  volumes 
of  fiction  give  evidence  of  the  same  deepening  change,  and  I 
venture  to  name  two.  "Mistress  Joy,"  a  tale  of  the  early 
Mississippi  and  the  Southwest,  by  two  Tennessee  women,  resi- 
dents of  neighboring  towns,  promised  at  first  to  be  the  common 
run  of  novel  with  the  usual  historic  and  romantic  ingredients ; 
but  its  strength  rests  in  the  growing  character,  the  fidelity  to 
psychologic  truth,  the  spiritual  unfolding  of  the  womanhood  of 
Mistress  Joy  herself.  Miss  Elliott's  "The  Making  of  Jane"  is 
a  distinct  appeal  in  the  case  of  both  Janes  to  reality  of  pre- 
sentation, and  from  this  point  of  view,  the  strongest  work, 
though  not  the  most  popular,  of  our  Sewanee  novelist. 

It  was  in  this  spirit  of  greater  truth  to  the  life  about  us  that 
in  a  personal  letter  written  now  more  than  ten  years  ago  by 
another  woman  of  the  South  (Miss  Marie  Whiting,  of  Virginia), 
there  was  uttered  a  prophetic  sentiment  which  at  the  time  I 
had  occasion  to  quote.  I  quote  it  again  in  this  connection  be- 
cause it  forecast  this  movement  and  maps  out,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
the  paths  of  future  development. 

"There  is  a  splendid  opening  for  somebody  in  Southern  liter- 
ature— a  field  untouched  so  far  as  I  know.  I  speak  of  the  want 
of  any  adequate  representation  of  typical  Southern  life  of  to-day. 
We  have  stories  of  society-folk  who  live  in  the  South  —  they  live 
there,  that  is  all,  for  'society'  is  pretty  much  the  same  the  world 
over;  the  very  rich  kill  time  in  much  the  same  way  in  all  large 
cities  or  in  all  summer  resorts  or  winter  hotels  or  palatial  country 
residences.  Then  we  have  the  dialect  stories  in  every  form  and 
shape  —  they  represent  the  very  poor  or  the  very  ignorant.  But 
who  has  told  of  the  great  middle  class,  the  blood  and  fiber  and 
heart  and  brain  of  the  body  corporate?  Who  has  written  of  the 
life  of  small  and  large  towns,  of  the  countryside,  of  the  people 


SOUTHERN     LITERATURE  219 

who  are  distinctive  and  individual,  yet  who  speak  the  King's 
English  and  read  some  more  or  less — who  are  neither  marvels  of 
wealth  and  culture,  nor  monstrosities  of  poverty  and  ignorance  ? 
If  such  people  exist,  have  they  not  their  life,  and  shall  not  some 
one  arise  to  see  its  pathos  and  its  beauty?" 

In  this  spirit  Southern  literature,  a  term  which  has  too  often  in 
the  past  implied  provinciality  and  narrowness,  passes  before  our 
eyes  into  the  stream  of  universal  literature  —  into  an  American 
literature  invested  with  a  world  interest  And  what  is  typically 
American?  Perhaps  the  type  has  not  yet  found  definite  repre- 
sentation and  expression.  A  true  American  literature  will  be  of 
the  real  life  of  the  American  people,  localized,  true,  but  catching 
profound,  universal,  elemental  traits  in  its  actuality.  The  key- 
note is  the  effort  at  true  and  faithful  representation  of  that  about 
us  and  within  us.  American  literature  has  been  largely  provin- 
cial in  the  past  It  has  echoed  the  voice  of  New  York,  or  of 
New  England,  or  of  some  other  section.  But  when  the  day  of 
our  national  literature  fully  comes,  it  will  not  be  altogether  of  any 
one  section  or  of  any  one  place,  but  rather  will  it  derive  elements 
of  all.  So  far  as  we  can  see  it  to-day,  in  its  entirety,  even  if  in 
no  single  work,  it  will  have  something  of  the  earnestness  and  pre- 
ciseness  of  New  England,  something  of  the  warmth  and  chivalry 
of  Southern  life,  something  of  the  large  freedom  and  expansive- 
ness  of  the  great  West 

It  will  tell  of  the  hope  and  the  joy,  the  bereavement  and  the 
sadness,  the  high  pulsation  of  heart  beats,  and  the  awful  trag- 
edy of  souls  in  the  life  about  us  !  Could  we  only  portray  these 
as  they  are  !  They  have  become  commonplaces,  even  as  sin  and 
suffering  and  truth  and  honor  are  commonplaces.  These  are  ele- 
mental, and  as  old  as  Homer  and  jEschylus  aud  Sophocles  and 
Dante  and  Chaucer  and  Shakespeare.  And  they  will  remain  as 
old  as  the  human  race,  and  the  human  race  will  read  of  them  in 
languages  yet  undeveloped  possibly,  if  an  artist  only  arises  to  de- 
clare in  them  a  home  truth  to  the  soul  of  man.  The  tragedy  of 
Prometheus,  the  curse  of  CEdipus,  the  horror  of  Hamlet's  doubt, 
and  the  awfulness  of  Lear's  mistake,  the  problems  of  Faust's 
struggles  with  self  are  immortal,  because  we  cannot  think  of  an 


220    NATIONAL  ELEMENT  IN  SOUTHERN  LITERATURE 

age  when  these  questions  and  their  artistic  expression  will  not 
appeal  to  mankind.  They  must  live ;  it  is  left  to  no  haphazard 
vote-taking  and  fickle  populace.  It  is  the  soul  of  man  that  pro- 
claims it 

There  are  many  phases  in  our  life,  many  truths  about  us  yet 
unnoted  and  unexpressed.  The  complete  representation  of 
Southern  as  of  all  American  life  is  still  wanting.  But  it  will 
inevitably  come  if  our  people  be  true  to  themselves  and  to  their 
destinies.  For  is  not  the  great  limitless  future  ours?  and  of 
the  heritage  of  the  American  spirit,  if  we  can  only  come  to  re- 
alize it,  is  not  the  particular  work  of  each  of  us,  East  and  West, 
North  and  South,  also  a  part? 


IX. 

Historical  Studies  in  the  South 
Since  the  War 


From  The  Sewanee  Review, 
May,  1893 


HISTORICAL  STUDIES  IN  THE  SOUTH 
SINCE  THE  WAR 

NO  study  has  become  more  popular  in  America  within 
the  past  few  years  than  that  of  History.  And  in  in- 
dicating a  change  in  the  conditions,  there  is  no  more  fitting 
time  than  the  Civil  War  to  take  as  the  point  of  departure  from 
the  past  to  the  present  This  division  not  only  marks  the 
modern  period  of  development,  it  indicates  a  self-conscious- 
ness in  the  Nation  never  before  so  alert  In  the  South,  the 
momentous  years,  i860- 1865,  are  even  in  greater  measure  the 
dividing  line  between  the  old  and  the  new — with  different 
civilizations,  new  objects,  and  new  ideals. 

But  before  entering  upon  the  consideration  of  what  the 
South  has  been  recently  doing  in  this  province  of  thought 
upon  what  conditions  the  work  has  been  based,  along  what 
lines  developed,  and  what  are  the  tendencies  and  the  promise, 
it  is  interesting  to  note,  in  order  to  get  relative  bearings  firmly 
established,  that  the  growth  of  this  historic  instinct  throughout 
the  country  seems  one  of  the  main  results  of  the  War  itself — 
a  consciousness  born  of  new  feelings  and  ideas  and  conceptions, 
and  derived  from  a  closer  discernment  of  the  events  and  the  de- 
velopment of  the  past 

In  an  address  before  the  American  Historical  Association, 
President  Charles  Kendall  Adams  has  emphasized  the  recent- 
ness  of  the  application  of  modern  methods  of  historic  study 
even  in  our  foremost  institutions.  Harvard  developed  beyond 
the  merest  academic  training  since  1870,  the  time  of  the  advent 
of  Henry  Adams  as  Professor  of  History.  Dr.  George  P. 
Fisher  was  at  Yale  as  early  as  1861,  but  there  was  no  second 
Professorship  until  1868,  and  the  restrictions  may  be  readily 
imagined  as  long  as  one  man  alone  carried,  Sinbad  like,  the 
burden  of  all  ages  and  epochs  upon  his  shoulders.  The  call 
which  Professor  John  W.  Burgess  followed  from  Amherst  to 
Columbia,  in  1877,  marks  the  new  era  in  the  course  of  history 


224  HISTORICAL    STUDIES    IN    THE 

in  the  metropolitan  institution,  and  in  1880  its  justly  dis- 
tinguished School  of  Political  Science  entered  upon  its  brilliant 
course.  Cornell  opened  its  classes  in  1868  under  President 
Andrew  D.  White,  and  in  1881  it  endowed  the  first  distinctive 
chair  of  American  History  in  the  United  States,  with  Professor 
Moses  Coit  Tyler  as  incumbent  Coming  fresh  from  German 
universities,  Andrew  D.  White  had  begun  an  advanced  course 
at  the  University  of  Michigan  in  1857,  which  was  continued 
later  by  Charles  Kendall  Adams,  and  the  widely  extended 
interest  in  historical  and  political  science,  which  had  long 
characterized  this  Northwestern  institution,  thus  early  received 
its  natural  impulse.  President  Gilman  opened  the  Johns  Hop- 
kins University  in  1876,  and  six  years  later  the  machinery  of 
Professor  Herbert  B.  Adams's  Historical  Seminar  was  in  working 
order.  More  recently,  the  University  of  Pennsylvania,  Prince- 
ton, and  Brown,  have  displayed  increased  activity  in  these 
branches,  still  newer  institutions  have  been  opened,  while  others 
have  extended  their  courses  and  added  to  the  number  of  their 
chairs.  But,  perhaps,  it  is  making  no  invidious  distinctions  if 
we  accept  those  mentioned  above  as  being,  within  the  past 
decade,  especially  active  in  their  zeal  for  historical  investigation 
and  most  influential  in  creating  a  school  of  followers  and 
disciples. 

If  we  looked  solely  at  the  latest  manifestations  of  this  historical 
spirit,  we  might  hesitate  to  place  the  dividing  line  at  the  War, 
and  could  bring  it  forward  to  the  more  recent  date  of  1876, 
when  was  celebrated  the  centennial  year  of  our  independence 
from  England.  But  while  admitting  the  marked  increase  in 
the  spheres  of  this  later  activity,  we  conceive  it  to  be  but  the 
natural  development  of  a  spirit  which  preceded  and  first  im- 
planted the  seed  in  a  new  generation,  to  whom  the  past  meant 
not  so  much  participation  as  history. 

Two  great  causes,  therefore,  seem  to  lie  at  the  bottom  of 
our  awakening,  to  have  brought  us  to  a  national  and  individual 
consciousness.  First,  there  were  the  influences  and  the  results 
of  the  War.  There  was  the  universal  conviction,  whether  North 
or  South,  that   after  four  years  of  the  direst  conflict  and  after 


SOUTH     SINCE    THE    WAR  ±tt 

the  settlement  of  great  issues,  however  much  men  might  differ 
as  to  the  policy  and  as  to  the  principles,  yet  our  country  at 
least  had  a  past  There  was  now  plenty  of  material  for  writing 
a  history,  whether,  on  the  one  hand,  it  looked  forward  to  higher 
developments  along  new  lines,  or  on  the  other,  it  gave  a  sigh  of 
regret  for  the  glories  of  the  past.  The  eye  of  the  historian  was 
no  longer  naturally  directed  to  the  study  of  the  Middle  Ages  or 
to  the  annals  of  England,  France,  Spain,  or  other  European 
countries,  but  it  turned  inwards  and  addressed  American  con- 
ditions. And  thus  ten  or  fifteen  years  after  the  close  of  this 
great  struggle,  schools  of  history  and  historians  began  to  arise 
almost  simultaneously  in  every  intellectual  centre  of  the  country. 
This  new  interest  was  not  the  discovery  of  any  one  man  nor  the 
work  alone  of  one  institution,  however  much  it  was  furthered 
by  individual  efforts.  It  lay  in  the  air,  it  was  the  outgrowth  of 
the  spirit  of  the  times  —  the  people  had  become  awakened  and 
were  self-conscious. 

But  just  as  in  England  the  manifestations  of  the  intellectual 
and  spiritual  awakening  of  the  sixteenth  century  were  intensified 
by  the  Revival  of  Letters  and  the  Reformation  falling  together, 
so  the  close  of  the  War,  followed  by  a  short  period  of  recupera- 
tive power,  almost  coincided  with  the  end  of  our  first  century  of 
national  existence.  Ten  years  after  the  surrender  at  Appomattox 
occurred  the  first  of  a  series  of  centennial  celebrations,  from  the 
commemoration  of  the  Battle  of  Concord  to  that  of  the  Evac- 
uation of  New  York.  Another  decade  thus  passed,  intensify- 
ing with  each  month  and  year  the  national  spirit ;  sending  abroad 
the  feeling  of  harmony  and  union  in  common  rejoicings  about 
boards  where  both  sections  could  unite  in  the  applause  of  the  same 
sentiments  of  patriotism  and  liberty;  and  nourishing  at  every 
stage  of  its  progress  the  historic  sense  and  consciousness.  Not 
only  national  and  historical,  also  personal  and  local  pride  was 
increased.  Each  part  wished  to  show  its  own  birthright,  as  it 
were,  to  this  great  national  inheritance,  and  at  once  began  to 
demonstrate  what  each  section  and  state  and  party  and  race 
and  family  had  contributed  to  the  magnificent  structure. 

Series  of  books  and  pamphlets  were  issued,  whole  schools  of 
16 


226  HISTORICAL    STUDIES    IN    THE 

history  were  set  to  work,  there  arose  cooperation  and  joint 
stock  companies  in  this,  as  in  other  things.  The  passion  for 
biography,  always  regarded  as  one  of  the  eyes  of  history, 
which  clearly  distinguishes  the  present  era  the  world  over,  added 
fervor  to  the  tendency.  Series  of  American  Commonwealths, 
American  Statesmen,  American  Men  of  Letters,  American 
Religious  Leaders,  Makers  of  America,  Great  Commanders, 
evidenced  the  intensity  of  the  spirit  and  the  wide-spread  interest 
The  American  self-consciousness  once  called  into  being,  no 
detail  affecting  the  past  was  too  slight  for  investigation.  His- 
torical associations  and  various  societies  of  related  character 
were  organized,  national,  state,  and  local ;  there  sprang  up 
Sons  and  Daughters  of  the  Revolution,  Camps  of  Veterans  and 
Sons  of  Veterans ;  fiction  chose  to  pursue  the  same  line ;  even 
fashions  and  advertisements  displayed  the  influence  of  the 
coloring ;  and  while  in  the  daily  newspapers  much  of  the  intensity 
may  have  been  gradually  dropped  and  something  else  have 
taken  its  place  as  the  latest  interest  of  the  day,  yet  our  schools 
and  colleges  and  universities  and  library  associations  and  literary 
circles  had  permanently  accepted  the  impulse  as  a  part  of  their 
inner  being,  their  heritage  from  the  past,  ineradicable  in  the  very 
nature  of  things  from  their  constitution. 

Turning  more  directly  to  the  South  in  these  considerations 
and  examining  the  manifestations  of  these  features  as  there 
distinguished,  it  was  but  natural  that  the  fact  of  the  War,  the 
result  and  circumstances  connected  therewith,  should  have  de- 
manded attention  first  of  all.  There  was  not  always  strict 
regard  to  details,  for  of  these  men  were  at  first  heartily  sick, 
and  often  tried  to  forget  them ;  so  it  came  about  that  much  that 
was  especially  valuable  was  consciously  destroyed.  But  a  dis- 
cussion of  old  principles  by  the  participants,  a  delivery  of  senti- 
ment over  the  dead  and  suffering  —  this  was  but  the  assertion 
of  nature,  and  assuredly  to  their  lasting  credit  Leaders 
seemed  to  have  the  prevision  that  a  statement  from  them  would 
be  welcomed  and  attended  to  by  posterity,  who  might  need 
information  as  to  their  motives  and  measures  in  the  great 
struggle;  what  was  at  first  controversial,  as  the   amenities  of 


SOUTH     SINCE    THE    WAR  227 

time  poured  in  their  balm,  became  more  reminiscent;  and  to- 
day, a  little  late  to  be  sure,  when  so  much  has  been  destroyed 
wilfully  and  from  sheer  neglect,  complete  muster-rolls  are  being 
reconstructed,  histories  of  regiments  and  companies  and  com- 
mands are  written,  and  every  fact,  every  circumstance,  is 
painfully  unravelled. 

It  is  easy  enough  to-day  to  understand  the  significance  of 
such  books  as  those  by  Alexander  H.  Stephens  and  Jefferson 
Davis.  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston  left  a  "Narrative"  of  his 
campaigns ;  General  Beauregard  and  others  published  numberless 
papers  and  magazine  articles.  Officers  and  privates  have  found 
opportunity  to  discuss  measures  and  men  and  deeds,  and  how- 
ever incomplete,  fragmentary,  and  necessarily  one-sided  and  un- 
scientific the  form  of  much  of  this  has  been  —  not  even  directed 
with  the  precision  a  fixed  bureau  and  editorship  might  have 
given — yet  the  effect  has  been  gradually  to  amass  material  of 
which  every  detail  has  its  importance.  Numerous  biographies 
of  the  great  participants  have  appeared  from  time  to  time  — 
of  Lee,  of  Jackson,  of  A.  S.  Johnston,  of  Davis,  of  Stephens, 
of  Toombs,  of  Memminger — each  striving  to  add  fresh  material 
and  to  show  the  character  of  the  man  in  a  clearer  light  Sur- 
vival meetings  are  held,  reunions  occur,  though  fewer  each 
year  answer  to  the  drum-tap,  monuments  to  the  illustrious 
dead  are  unveiled  —  to  Calhoun,  Lee,  Jackson,  Hill  —  orations 
are  delivered,  and  with  every  demonstration  through  all  its  wear 
and  intense  enthusiasm  fresh  details  are  gathered,  the  gleanings 
are  both  numerous  and  often  precious,  and  the  cause  of  history 
is  subserved.  The  historic  sense  has  grown  in  proportion  as  the 
personal  feeling  has  become  blunted. 

It  was  for  collecting  details  connected  with  this  past,  the 
events  of  the  four  years  of  the  War,  that  the  Southern  Historical 
Society  was  organized  twenty  years  ago  at  the  Greenbrier 
White  Sulphur  Springs.  Scraps  and  clippings  from  all  sorts  of 
papers,  direct  and  special  contributions,  marginalia  and  fugi- 
tiva  have  been  brought  together  in  the  twenty  annual  volumes, 
which  have  thus  far  appeared,  and  preserved  in  permanent  and 
easily  accessible  form.     Other  channels  still  are  our  monthly 


228  HISTORICAL    STUDIES    IN    THE 

magazines,  the  Sunday  editions  of  newspapers  in  our  leading 
cities,  North  and  South.  Sometimes  these  constitute  a  loosely 
connected  series,  and  are  afterwards  collected  in  one  volume  and 
reduced  to  book  form.  An  instance  is  the  Century  "War 
Papers,"  and  one,  more  modest  but  hardly  less  important,  is  the 
small  volume  issued  a  few  years  ago  by  the  Charleston  News 
and  Courier,  bearing  the  title  "Our  Women  in  the  War." 

Looking  at  the  list  of  Historical  Societies  in  the  Southern 
States,  we  may  single  out  those  in  Virginia  for  number,  promi- 
nence, and  activity.  Seven  are  named  in  the  list  published  by 
the  American  Historical  Association  as  belonging  to  Virginia, 
but  it  must  be  confessed  that  some  of  these  exist  for  the  most 
part  on  paper,  or  merely  in  a  nominal  way  in  connection  with 
some  library,  and  for  any  work  they  produce  or  active  organi- 
zation they  possess,  must  be  considered  as  really  non-existent, 
a  fear  which  may  be  entertained  for  the  majority  of  the  two 
hundred  and  eighteen  accredited  to  the  United  States.  There 
are,  too,  more  Virginian  members  of  the  American  Historical 
Association  than  representatives  from  any  other  Southern  State, 
constituting,  as  they  do,  almost  half  the  entire  Southern  con- 
stituency, even  though  this  number  be  exceedingly  small,  some 
thirty  to  forty,  hardly  more  than  six  per  cent  of  the  full  mem- 
bership. The  reason  for  this  exceptional  interest  on  the  part  of 
Virginia  is  not  hard  to  discover.  She  was  the  first  colony 
founded,  she  played  a  notably  conspicuous  part  in  the  further 
settlement  and  development  of  the  country,  in  securing  liberty 
aud  independence,  and  in  furnishing  leaders  both  in  war  and  in 
council.  The  Virginia  Historical  Society,  which  was  organized 
in  1 83 1,  is  the  oldest  in  the  South.  True,  it  died  after  a  few 
years,  and  upon  reorganization  led  for  a  while  a  precarious 
existence ;  but  it  has  always  had  its  heroic  supporters.  In  the 
period  since  the  War,  from  1879  through  to  1892,  it  was  virtually 
embodied  in  its  Corresponding  Secretary,  Mr.  R.  A.  Brock,  one 
of  the  most  zealous  workers  in  the  historic  field  of  his  State. 
Under  his  editorship,  beginning  with  1882,  eleven  annual 
voiumes  of  valuable  documents,  chiefly  relating  to  the  colonial 
period,  have  been  published  —  one  of  the  few  instances  of  per- 


SOUTH     SINCE    THE    WAR  229 

sistent  activity  on  the  part  of  an  historical  society  in  the  South. 
Equally  to  Virginia  —  which  furnished  so  many  leaders  and  lent 
her  soil  for  the  constant  battle-ground  —  may  be  credited  the 
Southern  Historical  Society,  with  headquarters  in  Richmond 
the  old  Confederate  capital,  and  under  the  secretaryship  of 
Mr.  Brock.  The  Association  for  the  Preservation  of  Virginia 
Antiquities,  organized  by  the  ladies  of  Virginia,  is  particularly 
active,  both  practically  and  in  social  gatherings.  The  Sons  and 
Daughters  of  the  Revolution  strike  peculiarly  strong  root  in  Vir- 
ginia soil.  The  historic  colleges  in  Virginia  lend  themselves 
readily  to  the  same  spirit  The  Historical  and  Geographical 
Society  of  Richmond  College  has  for  several  years  done  inspiring 
work  with  its  students,  and  produced  even  more  permanent 
results,  in  frequent  public  addresses  on  some  point  of  original  in- 
vestigation by  distinguished  citizens  and  visitors.  Other  col- 
leges are  endeavoring  to  be  no  whit  behind.  Roanoke  College 
has  its  local  society,  and  that  at  Hampden-Sidney,  while  perhaps 
younger  than  some  in  years,  is  deficient  neither  in  number  nor 
in  working  interest  William  and  Mary,  under  the  direction  of 
her  President  is  publishing  a  quarterly  periodical  filled  with 
data  taken  from  the  rich  sources  of  the  past  of  the  college  and 
its  section.  For  three  years  past  the  Board  of  Washington  and 
Lee  University  has  been  issuing  records  pertaining  to  her  early 
history.  Likewise  many  of  the  Commencement  addresses  at 
these  and  others  Virginia  institutions  are  filled  with  historic 
interest  the  occasion  constantly  alluring  the  speaker  to  special 
investigation  and  research. 

But  perhaps  the  best  evidence  of  this  interest  and  activity  in 
the  South  in  historic  matters  may  be  obtained  by  a  glance  over 
the  list  of  membership  of  the  American  Historical  Association. 
Here  are  many  names  calling  up  noble  pieces  of  work  and  much 
praiseworthy  effort  even  though  there  be  marked  the  absence  of 
some  of  our  most  enthusiastic  workers. 

First  of  all,  Professor  Herbert  B.  Adams,  of  the  Johns  Hopkins, 
deserves  mention,  both  for  his  own  researches  in  Southern  edu- 
cational history,  and  for  the  inspiring  and  suggestive  influence 
he  has  exerted  on  so  many  Southern  scholars.     The  late  Colonel 


230  HISTORICAL    STUDIES    IN    THE 

William  Allan's  "Army  of  Northern  Virginia"  has  just  been 
published  by  the  Boston  firm,  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  who 
have  always  heartily  encouraged  and  supported  historical  in- 
vestigation. Ex-President  Kemp  P.  Battle,  of  the  University  of 
North  Carolina,  has  fanned  the  flame  of  historic  interest  in  his 
State,  aided  by  his  official  position.  Professor  E.  W.  Bemis,  late 
of  Vanderbilt  University,  has  prepared,  under  the  auspices  of  the 
Johns  Hopkins  publications,  a  monograph  on  local  government 
in  the  South  and  Southwest  Dr.  Jeffrey  R.  Brackett,  of  Bal- 
timore, has  written  of  the  negro,  as  have  also  Mr.  Edward 
Ingle,  of  Washington,  and  Mr.  Philip  A.  Bruce,  of  Richmond. 
William  T.  Brantly,  of  the  Baltimore  bar,  contributed  to  Justin 
Winsor's  "Narrative  and  Critical  History  of  America,"  and 
among  other  collaborators  of  the  same  work  were  Messrs. 
William  Wirt  Henry  and  R.  A.  Brock,  of  Richmond,  William  J. 
Rivers  of  South  Carolina,  and  Charles  C.  Jones,  Jr.,  of  Georgia. 
The  activity  of  Mr.  R.  A.  Brock,  in  connection  with  the  Vir- 
ginia and  Southern  Historical  Societies,  has  already  been  men- 
tioned. Alexander  Brown's  two  volumes  on  the  "Genesis  of 
the  United  States"  have  laid  bare  the  details  of  the  struggle 
between  the  English  and  the  Spanish  governments  for  the 
settlement  and  possession  of  Northern  America,  and  have  re- 
opened the  controversy  concerning  Captain  John  Smith.  The 
late  Colonel  John  Mason  Brown,  of  Louisville,  wrote  for  the  Filson 
Club  "The  Political  Beginnings  of  Kentucky."  The  Hon.  Wm. 
A.  Courtenay,  of  Charleston,  issued,  while  mayor,  a  series  of  year- 
books for  the  city,  and  has  lately  engaged  in  efforts  to  obtain  for 
the  South  Carolina  Historical  Society  transcripts  of  colonial 
records  from  London.  Dr.  J.  L.  M.  Curry,  general  agent  for  the 
Peabody  Fund,  besides  contributing  numerous  reminiscences  of 
his  own  historic  life,  has  delivered  addresses  not  only  on  the 
history  of  education  in  the  South,  but  especially  on  the  relations 
between  Church  and  State  and  on  Baptist  origins  and  develop- 
ment. Professor  Heath  Dabney,  of  the  University  of  Virginia, 
has,  for  the  most  part  devoted  attention,  in  accordance  with  the 
nature  of  the  duties  of  his  chair,  to  the  scientific  aspects  of 
history,    the   causes   of   the    French   Revolution    and   kindred 


SOUTH     SINCE    THE     WAR  281 

subjects.  The  published  papers  of  Professor  Means  Davis,  of 
the  South  Carolina  College,  appeal  more  to  the  economical  and 
political  reader.  Edward  Eggleston,  not  himself  a  Virginian, 
but  of  Virginian  family  and  descent,  has  written  much  of 
Southern  colonial  life,  portrayed  Bacon's  Rebellion,  and  besides, 
in  romance-writing,  used  Western  Virginia  and  the  early  North- 
west as  historic  background.  Mr.  William  Wirt  Henry's  three 
volumes,  comprising  the  "Life  and  Letters  of  Patrick  Henry," 
are  not  merely  a  monument  of  devotion  to  the  memory  of  a 
grandsire,  but  deserve  special  recognition  for  the  arduous  and 
painstaking  labor  of  love  which  produced  them,  considering  how 
scattered  and  lost  is  so  much  of  the  material  for  Southern  history 
and  biography.  Another  filial  work  is  the  biography  of  General 
Albert  Sidney  Johnston,  by  his  son,  Colonel  William  Preston  John- 
ston, the  President  of  the  Tulane  University.  Colonel  Charles  C. 
Jones,  Jr.,  has  long  been  the  source  of  an  enthusiastic  interest  in 
Georgia  history,  whether  colonial,  state  or  city.  His  numerous 
addresses  and  monographs  are  but  pendants  to  his  fuller  "His- 
tory of  Georgia."  The  late  Dr.  James  F.  Latimer,  of  the  Theo- 
logical Seminary  at  Hampden-Sidney,  specialized  in  Church 
history,  and  left  addresses  on  Early  Presbyterianism  in  Virginia 
and  the  South.  Thomas  Nelson  Page  has,  perhaps,  best  told  of 
the  history  of  Virginia  through  his  stories.  It  is  the  romance  of 
the  Old  South  which  breathes  in  the  sketches  "In  Ole  Virginia" 
and  "On  Newfound  River,"  while  his  many  addresses  have 
direct  reference  either  to  the  history  of  the  past,  or  to  the 
incitation  of  the  historical  spirit.  Approaching  nearer  still  to 
the  more  scientific  aspects  of  historic  investigation  is  the 
announced  Life  of  Thomas  Nelson,  for  the  Makers  of  America 
series,  which  it  is  proposed,  will  be  a  study  of  colonial  conditions. 
The  late  unhappy  death  of  the  Tennessee  Congressman  James 
Phelan,  cut  off  the  bright  promise  of  a  scholarship  and  training 
received  at  Leipsic,  but  not  before  the  "History  of  Tennessee" 
had  been  written,  and  the  incorporation  by  the  national  govern- 
ment of  the  American  Historical  Association  had  been  secured 
by  his  services.  Another  civic  officer,  the  Hon.  William  L. 
Saunders,    North  Carolina's  Secretary  of  State,  edited  several 


232  HISTORICAL    STUDIES    IN    THE 

volumes  of  invaluable  records  pertaining  to  the  state's  colonial 
history — in  itself  a  monumental  work,  and  a  noble  example  for 
sister  commonwealths.  Professor  Charles  Lee  Smith,  now  of  Wil- 
liam Jewell  College,  wrote  North  Carolina's  educational  history 
in  the  series  edited  by  his  instructor,  Dr.  Adams,  of  the  Johns 
Hopkins,  and  published  by  the  National  Bureau  of  Education. 
The  labors  on  the  English  Constitution,  by  Hannis  Taylor, 
Esq.,  of  Mobile,  have  received  the  highest  commendation  for 
learning,  acumen,  and  scholarship.  Professor  William  P.  Trent, 
of  Sewanee,  has  edited  the  Gilmer  Letters  relating  to  the  history 
of  the  University  of  Virginia,  has  published  numerous  notes  on 
the  growth  of  historic  spirit  in  the  South,  and  has  more  recently 
written  the  Life  of  Simms,  for  the  American  Men  of  Letters 
series,  in  which  he  gives  a  study  of  ante-bellum  Southern  literary 
conditions.  President  Lyon  G.  Tyler,  of  William  and  Mary, 
has  not  only  proved  one  in  the  number  of  filial  writers  of 
biography  in  his  "Letters  and  Times  of  the  Tylers,"  but,  in 
addition  to  a  smaller  work  on  "  Parties  and  Patronage  in  the 
United  States,"  has  begun  issuing  the  William  and  Mary 
College  Quarterly  Historical  Magazine.  Professor  Stephen  B. 
Weeks,  of  Trinity  College,  North  Carolina,  has  inspired  local 
research,  and  worthily  set  the  example  for  his  pupils  by  his  own 
periodic  contributions.  The  Rev.  Dr.  William  H.  Whitsitt,  of 
Louisville,  has  written  the  "Life  and  Times  of  Judge  Caleb 
Wallace,"  another  Filson  Club  publication.  Professor  Woodrow 
Wilson,  belonging  originally  to  North  Carolina,  but  in  the 
historic  training  which  he  has  received,  and  in  the  professorships 
he  has  filled,  hardly  longer  to  be  credited  to  the  South,  has 
been  especially  active  in  publication.  His  analysis  of  Con- 
gressional Government,  and  his  study  of  the  State  —  the  origins, 
development,  and  forms  of  government — have  just  been 
followed  by  the  third  volume  of  the  Epochs  of  American  History, 
"Division  and  Reunion,  1829- 1889."  President  George  T. 
Winston,  of  the  University  of  North  Carolina,  is  following  the 
example  of  his  predecessor  in  lending  all  the  weight  of  his  office 
to  the  inspiration  of  local  historic  zeal,  a  late  evidence  of  which 
was  the  series  of  lectures  at  Chapel  Hill  from  Professor  Hart,  of 


SOUTH     SINCE    THE    WAR  HI 

Harvard,  on  the  principles  and  methods  of  scientific  historical 
investigation. 

The  above  are  but  representative  names  taken  from  the 
American  Association's  list,  and  they  serve  merely  for  illustra- 
tion. Many  others  still  have  done  notable  work.  There  are  the 
volumes  of  Colonel  J.  Thomas  Scharf —  founder  of  the  collec- 
tion of  Southern  History  of  the  Johns  Hopkins  University,  and 
of  Dr.  William  Hand  Browne,  on  Maryland.  There  are,  too,  the 
noteworthy  efforts  of  Professor  Virgil  A.  Lewis,  in  West  Virginia, 
whose  monthly  Southern  Historical  Magazine  must,  after  a 
valuable  career  of  two  years,  suspend  publication  for  the  nonce, 
to  be  resumed  as  a  quarterly  periodical.  There  are,  besides,  the 
achievements  of  the  Filson  Club,  of  Louisville,  under  its  founder 
and  leader,  Colonel  Reuben  T.  Durrett ;  the  valuable  labors  of 
Dr.  William  P.  Palmer  and  others,  in  editing  the  Calendar  of  Vir- 
ginia State  Papers;  the  zeal  and  active  interest  of  General  Gates 
P.  Thruston,  of  Nashville;  of  Dr.  James  H.  Carlisle,  of  Wofford 
College,  South  Carolina;  of  Fay  Hempstead,  Esq.,  of  Little 
Rock,  and  others.  The  historic  interest  associated  with  and 
gathering  about  large  public  libraries,  as  in  Baltimore,  Rich- 
mond, Charleston,  New  Orleans,  deserves  especial  notice. 
Even  some  of  the  smaller  towns  are  forming  their  nucleus  of 
books;  and  the  first  results  are  always  seen  in  an  outburst  of 
historic  zeal,  and  the  spirit  of  research. 

While  most  of  the  states  in  the  South  have  nominally 
Historical  Societies,  yet  their  activity  as  media  of  Publication 
has  been  virtually  nil.  As  intimated,  the  Virginia  Society  has 
long  held  an  exceptional  place  in  this  regard,  it  having  issued  an 
annual  volume  for  the  past  eleven  years;  and  in  addition  to  this, 
a  new  quarterly  journal  has  been  projected  by  its  executive 
committee.  After  Virginia,  Kentucky  seems  especially  promi- 
nent in  having  a  society  which  furnishes  regular  publications. 
This  is  the  Filson  Club,  of  Louisville.  From  a  membership  of 
ten,  it  has  grown  in  eight  years  to  one  of  more  than  five 
hundred,  representing  all  parts  of  the  State,  and  has  published 
successively  seven  annual  quarto  volumes. 

The  pioneer  history  of  the  West  and  Southwest  is  attracting 


234  HISTORICAL    STUDIES    IN    THE 

especial  attention  now  that  we  are  celebrating  the  Discovery 
and  the  Making  of  America.  In  this  recital  the  most  striking 
episodes  are  connected  with  the  founding  of  Western  Virginia, 
and  the  beginnings  of  Kentucky,  Tennessee,  and  the  Northwest 
Territory,  when  the  first  heroic  vanguard  ventured  across  the 
Appalachian  range,  following  up  the  course  of  the  rivers  into 
the  then  great  unknown.  It  is  the  story  of  a  country  settled  by 
native  resources  and  individual  energy  independent  of  English 
charters,  a  story  which  counted  for  much  in  emphasizing  the 
idea  of  national  union  in  American  history.  It  is  a  narrative 
that  tells  how  the  Englishmen  along  the  coast  won  the  Missis- 
sippi Valley  and  the  vast  interior  from  France  and  from  Spain, 
each  of  which  seemed  at  one  time  to  hold  the  key  to  the  future, 
and  might  have  changed  our  whole  destiny.  This  idea  has 
attracted  other  than  Southern  pens.  It  is  the  central  thought 
permeating  the  series  of  Parkman's  histories  just  completed  by 
the  "Half-Century  of  Conflict."  More  directly  still,  Theodore 
Roosevelt's  "Winning  of  the  West,"  deals  with  this  movement. 
The  material  of  the  latter  was  in  large  measure  obtained  from 
papers  in  the  hands  of  citizens  and  societies  of  Kentucky  and 
Tennessee,  evincing  the  rich  sources  which  it  still  remains  a 
privileged  duty  to  publish.  Indeed,  where  may  the  investigation 
of  Southern  material  end?  The  great  Southwest  and  Texas  are 
still  comparatively  unexplored ;  Louisiana  has  always  yielded 
a  rich  harvest,  which  seems  never  failing;  South  Carolina,  Florida, 
and  all  the  Gulf  States  are  replete  with  material  yet  to  be 
worked  up. 

The  study  of  the  elements  in  our  composition  is  in  itself  a 
phase.  We  have  already  Scotch-Irish  and  French  Huguenot 
societies,  but  there  are  still  other  constituents.  The  de- 
scendants of  these  races  are  endeavoring  to  trace  back  to  its 
origin  each  thread,  and  to  appreciate  its  value ;  and  if  at  re- 
unions and  at  festive  dinners  native  enthusiasm  tends  to  lose 
sight  of  proportion  and  relative  importance,  still  the  need  of  the 
work  may  not  be  disputed.  The  oration  of  the  Hon.  John  S. 
Wise,  in  last  December,  before  the  Congregational  Club  of  New 
York,  on  Virginia's  lineage,  was  an  especially  clear  analysis  of 


SOUTH     SINCE     THE     WAR  285 

the  original  elements  entering  into  the  constituency  of  the  Old 
Dominion.  A  paper  of  the  writer  before  the  Virginia  His- 
torical Society  a  year  ago,  was  an  attempt  from  a  somewhat 
similar  point  of  view,  making  use  of  statistics  in  support  of 
theories;  and  he  cannot  refrain  from  expressing  the  belief  that 
along  similar  lines  a  great  deal  may  still  be  done;  only  all 
the  threads  of  the  woof  must  be  carefully  examined,  as  it  seems 
reasonable  to  maintain  that  not  one  alone,  but  all  contribute 
towards  making  up  the  whole  cloth. 

The  essays  in  Southern  fiction  since  the  War  throw  no  faint 
light  on  the  interest  in  Southern  History.  This  fiction  has 
been  chiefly  historical,  or  at  least  based  on  historic  elements. 
John  Esten  Cooke,  who  lived  in  and  through  the  War,  found  in 
the  emotions  to  which  it  gave  rise  the  natural  expression  of  his 
art  No  less  did  Cable  find  his  opportunity  in  the  race  condi- 
tions present  in  the  variegated  life  —  French,  Spanish,  and 
Creole  —  near  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi  ;  and  it  is  little 
wonder  that  in  his  desire  to  trace  these  manifestations  to  their 
past,  he  should  pry  into  hidden  history,  and  not  only  glean 
strange  true  stories  of  Louisiana,  tracing  survivals  of  dialect  and 
letters,  but  add  contributions  to  the  history  of  the  city  and 
state  itself — even  if  it  be  a  history  tinged  with  the  color  of 
romance.  It  is  not  strange  that  Miss  Grace  King,  working 
with  the  same  colored  pigments,  should  become  interested  in 
the  career  of  Sieur  de  Bienville.  James  Lane  Allen  could  not 
describe  Kentucky  life  in  the  past  and  present  without  feeling 
the  sense  of  its  historic  background.  Thomas  Nelson  Page 
took  but  a  slight  step  in  passing  from  the  pictures  of  colonial 
dames  and  times  to  his  genre  portraits  "befo'  de  war,"  and 
thence  from  the  poetic  treatment  of  the  romance  of  history  to 
the  serious  discussion  of  history  in  detail.  Indeed,  everywhere 
it  is  the  historic  consciousness  which  has  seized  upon  and  con- 
trols our  life  and  its  manifestations  —  our  letters  and  the  ex- 
pression of  our  thought.  We  shall  not  go  out  of  our  way  to 
compare  it  with  the  French  consciousness  wrought  by  the  great 
Revolution,  or  with  the  ripening  of  German  thought  and  the 
intensifying  of  German  unity  which  sprang  from  the  Napoleonic 


236  HISTORICAL    STUDIES    IN    THE 

wars.  Certainly  for  those  of  us  who  are  teachers  of  literature 
and  of  history,  and  are  making  the  attempt  to  incite  among 
our  youth  an  enthusiasm  for  writing  and  for  investigation,  there 
is  hardly  a  more  promising  field.  The  opportunity  lies  in 
eliciting  interest  in  local  concerns  and  surroundings.  The 
literary  and  historic  sense  is  aroused  and  its  spirit  encouraged 
and  vivified  solely  by  the  powers  of  observation  and  inves- 
tigation. To  one  gifted  with  imagination,  artistic  insight,  and 
the  poet's  soul,  it  affords  the  basis  of  future  romance  and 
fiction ;  in  others  endowed  with  a  more  strenuously  logical  cast 
of  mind  and  a  keen  scent  for  tracing  effect  to  cause  and  con- 
ditions to  origins,  it  assumes  the  philosopher's  garb  and  the 
historian's  methods.  In  all  cases  it  has  lifted  the  mind  beyond 
mere  text-book  pages  and  academic  lecturing  —  it  has  given 
bread  instead  of  a  stone. 

Of  the  universities  which  have  especially  influenced  historic 
investigation  in  the  South,  the  Johns  Hopkins  stands  easily  first. 
Many  causes  may  have  contributed  to  this.  Harvard  and  other 
colleges  have  been  too  far  north,  while  Baltimore  was  centrally 
located,  and  had  always  been  recognized  as  essentially  a 
Southern  city.  Special  privileges  to  Virginia  and  North 
Carolina,  as  well  as  proximity,  attracted  students  from  those 
states.  Its  convenience  to  the  District  of  Columbia  tended  to 
give  it  at  the  outset  a  national  significance  and  to  inculcate  a 
catholic  spirit.  Indeed  the  incitements  to  post-graduate  work 
which  other  institutions,  thus  thrown  on  their  mettle,  have  since 
received,  and  the  recent  organization  of  Clark,  Chicago,  and 
Stanford  Universities  in  the  eastern,  central,  and  extreme 
western  divisions  of  our  country,  to  meet  especial  needs,  simply 
attest  the  fact  that  the  pioneer  American  university  has  success- 
fully created  a  soil  from  which  such  plants  may  derive  an 
invigorating  growth.  Especially  in  American  historical,  politi- 
cal, and  economical  science  has  this  institution  been  prominent, 
and  not  a  few  of  its  students  and  graduates  in  this  department 
have  been  scattered  over  the  South,  teaching  in  Southern 
institutions,  and  extending  in  turn  to  others  the  inspiration 
which  they  themselves  have  received.      Even  much  of  the  work 


SOUTH     SINCE     THE     WAR  287 

and  investigation  in   local   matters    thus   effected    received    its 
direct  impulse  and  suggestion  from  the  parent  institution. 

In  other  cases,  however,  the  inspiration  to  historic  zeal  came 
not  from  without  but  from  within,  where  native  environment 
and  a  notable  past  have  developed  an  interest  in  history.  Such 
has  been  preeminently  the  case  with  the  three  oldest  institu- 
tions in  Virginia  and  the  South  :  through  the  colonial  beginnings 
of  William  and  Mary,  the  Scotch-Irish  origins  of  Washington 
and  Lee,  and  the  fervor  of  religious  liberty  and  national  in 
dependence  manifested  in  founding  Hampden-Sidney. 

The  remark  has  already  been  made  that  the  publication  of 
historical  works  has  been  frequently  in  the  form  of  series,  the 
system  of  cooperation  being  applied  even  to  this  field  of  work, 
as  a  characteristic  symptom  of  the  times.  The  American 
Commonwealths  have  included  thus  far  the  histories  of  Virginia, 
Maryland,  Kentucky,  and  Missouri,  in  the  South,  and  the  history 
of  these  may  hardly  be  said  to  exceed  that  of  other  States  in 
interest  or  in  value.  The  South  has  been  especially  well- 
equipped  for  furnishing  subjects  to  the  American  Statesmen 
series — and,  most  of  all,  Virginia,  which  had  the  largest  white 
population  of  any  State  at  the  period  just  before  and  after  the 
Revolution.  Two  volumes  on  George  Washington,  two  on 
Henry  Clay,  others  on  Patrick  Henry,  Thomas  Jefferson,  John 
Marshall,  John  Randolph,  James  Madison,  James  Monroe, 
Andrew  Jackson,  John  C.  Calhoun,  and  Thomas  H.  Benton 
have  been  the  South's  quota.  True,  hardly  one  of  these 
biographies  has  been  written  by  a  Southern  scholar,  but  by 
some  one  from  a  thoroughly  objective  point  of  view,  not  always 
in  sympathy  with  the  subject  Still  the  series  has  called  forth 
pronounced  attention  to  the  subject  of  American  History  as 
affected  by  the  South  and  Southern  men,  has  incited  the  spirit 
of  investigation  in  the  South,  and  if  even  sharp  criticism  has 
been  heard,  it  has  made  other  students  and  scholars  who  have 
differed,  feel  more  keenly  their  own  responsibilities.  The 
American  Men  of  Letters  series  has  included  but  two  Southern 
names  —  Poe  and  Simms.  None  of  the  American  Religious 
Leaders  has  been  taken  from  the  South,  although  she  has  had 


238  HISTORICAL    STUDIES    IN    THE 

likewise  her  famous  theologians  and  divines.  The  Makers  of 
America  has  gone  Southward  fully  as  much  as  the  American 
Statesmen.  The  history  of  the  lives  of  the  Calverts,  Ogle- 
thorpe, Sieur  de  Bienville,  La  Salle,  Jefferson,  Thomas  Nelson, 
and  Samuel  Houston,  each  tells  the  tale  of  the  expansion  of 
Southern  territory.  The  South  has  also  her  Great  Com- 
manders in  the  new  series  just  announced:  Washington,  Jack- 
son, Taylor,  Scott,  Lee,  and  Joseph  E.  Johnston.  Three  of 
these  are  to  be  written  by  Southern  men:  the  biography  of 
Washington  by  General  Bradley  T.  Johnson,  the  one  of  Lee 
by  his  nephew,  General  Fitzhugh  Lee,  and  that  of  Johnston 
by  Mr.  Robert  M.  Hughes. 

Other  biographies  have  been  numerous  —  some  written  from 
personal  love  and  devotion,  as  Mrs.  Davis's,  Mrs.  Perry's,  Mrs. 
Jackson's  and  some  dictated  by  reverence  and  piety,  among 
which,  besides  Johnston's,  Tyler's  and  Henry's,  we  may  include 
Mrs.  Corbin's  Maury,  Miss  Rowland's  Mason,  and  Mrs.  Lee's 
Pendleton.     This  increase  in  female  authorship  is  striking. 

Especially  interesting  has  been  the  unfolding  of  the  intel- 
lectual life  in  the  Old  South,  the  analysis  of  the  systems  of 
education  formerly  in  vogue.  The  series  of  monographs  pub- 
lished by  the  National  Bureau  of  Education  under  the  editor- 
ship and  supervision  of  Professor  Herbert  B.  Adams,  of  the 
Johns  Hopkins,  has  opened  a  mine  of  information,  and  presented 
a  fair  knowledge  of  the  ideals  in  education  and  the  breadth  of 
intellectual  training  and  culture  in  the  earlier  days.  The 
revelations  in  many  cases  have  been  matter  of  universal 
surprise  and  congratulation.  The  editor  of  the  series  has  him- 
self written  of  education  in  Virginia,  having  become  fascinated 
by  the  early  history  of  the  College  of  William  and  Mary,  and 
the  circumstances  attendant  upon  the  founding  of  the  State  Uni- 
versity. The  history  of  education  in  all  the  South  Atlantic 
States  —  in  North  Carolina,  South  Carolina,  Georgia,  Florida, 
and  also  Alabama  —  followed  soon  afterwards,  for  the  most  part 
the  work  of  pupils  from  those  states  who  had  caught  something 
of  their  preceptor's  enthusiasm  and  fire.  Abundant  material, 
and   that   most   valuable    for  the  portrayal    of  the  life  of  the 


SOUTH     SINCE     THEWAR  23« 

country,  is  still  to  be  worked  up  here  —  the  history  of  individual 
colleges  and  seminaries,  and  the  lives  of  great  educators — often 
the  story  of  pathetic  struggles  and  gigantic  efforts  against  over- 
whelming forces — in  short  the  complete  narrative  of  the  in- 
tellectual and  literary  life  of  the  several  states.  Professor 
Trent's  Simms,  which  was  a  review  of  the  former  literary  con- 
ditions of  the  South,  has  awakened  both  interest  and  discussion 
in  this  line.  An  announced  lecture  by  President  Charles  W. 
Dabney,  of  the  University  of  Tennessee,  on  "  Intellectual  Life 
in  the  Old  South,"  is  merely  additional  evidence  of  the  interest 
the  discussion  excites.  The  writer  himself  has  been  collecting 
material  looking  forward  to  some  contributions  on  the  history 
of  the  institution  [Hampden-Sidney  College]  with  which  he  is 
connected  and  of  the  State  in  which  he  is  laboring. 

Social  life  has  been  hitherto  described  more  in  the  novel 
than  in  our  histories,  but  as  Macaulay,  himself  a  master  in 
color,  urged,  there  is  no  reason  why  this  fair  province  should 
be  taken  from  the  possession  of  the  serious  historian.  Sooth 
to  say,  Southern  history  has  been  too  prone  to  neglect  such 
a  picturing  of  the  times  and  has  had  a  tendency  to  lapse  into 
an  explication  of  genealogies  and  family  trees  rather  than  to 
apprehend  conditions.  Not  that  this  has  not  also  its  use ;  and 
it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  Sons  and  Daughters  of  the  Revolution 
will  bring  to  this  phase  of  history  the  science  it  demands,  basing 
conclusions  on  the  best  evidence,  in  wills  and  deeds  filed  in 
county  clerks'  offices,  and  in  other  records,  and  not  solely  upon 
the  fond  memory  of  maiden  aunts  and  worse  founded  traditions. 

Side  by  side  with  history,  the  study  of  economics  is  taught 
and  is  occupying  the  attention  of  present  thinkers,  and  history 
is  being  written  in  its  economical,  commercial,  and  industrial 
aspects.  None  is  more  curious  than  Southern  life  in  this 
regard — its  systems  of  agriculture,  land  tenure,  labor,  crops, 
prices,  taxation,  transportation,  travel,  navigation,  commerce, 
manufactures,  banking,  fiscal  laws.  It  suffices  merely  to  sug- 
gest the  vast  field  here  to  be  occupied.  Is  it  too  soon  to 
discuss  these  questions  in  the  light  of  history  and  not  as  a 
matter  of  politics,  as  so  many  of  the  questions  pertaining  to  the 


240  HISTORICAL    STUDIES    IN    THE 

South  may  alone  be  treated?  Herein  lies  the  greatest  foe  to 
the  free  expression  of  historic  thought,  to  untrammelled  historic 
research,  in  our  section.  Much  has  been  said  about  the  negro 
— when  will  be  written  the  first  complete  and  authentic  history 
of  this  race  in  America?  Contributions  have  been  already 
made,  and  it  will  be  an  interesting  volume,  whenever  it  appears. 

In  the  realm  of  political  and  constitutional  history  more  has 
been  done,  yet  there  is  room  still  for  systematic  development 
Statistics  are  hard  and  dry  reading,  but  often  eloquent  in  the 
very  facts  they  present.  The  one  desire  is  to  trace  all  the 
threads  of  our  life  and  to  reproduce  the  entire  past.  General- 
izations are  difficult;  data  and  elements  are  apt  to  be  over- 
looked ;  but  the  aim  should  be  to  show  forth  the  real  life  of  the 
people  as  a  whole,  and  not  merely  the  transactions  of  the  few — 
what  they  were  and  thought  and  did  —  life  in  the  broadest 
sense,  material,  social,  intellectual,  moral,  spiritual. 

Many  crude  pieces  of  work  evidence  not  so  much  incapacity 
as  lack  of  training  and  discernment  as  to  the  best  ways  to  con- 
duct an  investigation.  The  responsibility  herein  involved  rests 
upon  the  institutions  of  learning.  They  need  not  expect  to 
rival  the  foremost  universities  of  Germany,  England,  or  the 
more  wealthy  North.  Their  scope  and  sphere  of  instruction 
must  necessarily  be  far  different  on  account  of  the  limitations 
imposed  by  present  conditions.  But  as  so  many  of  our  youth 
naturally  interested  in  this  work  may  never  get  beyond  the 
college  or  the  state  university,  if  no  inspiration  and  direction 
be  offered  there,  where  else  may  it  be  given?  An  enthusiastic 
professor,  a  special  chair,  a  fairly  equipped  and  catalogued 
library,  a  few  practical  directions  and  pointed  criticisms,  and 
the  ground  work  could  be  laid,  and  at  least  the  stimulus  to  a 
movement  begun  and  a  number  of  bright  young  men  enlisted. 
All  over  the  South,  in  every  state  institution  at  least,  in 
addition  to  the  instructor  in  general  history,  one  is  needed 
especially  for  American  and  state  and  local  interests ;  and  it 
ought  to  prove  a  patriotic  duty  to  provide  this,  and  where 
possible  even  to  subdivide  the  work  among  several  ardent  in- 
vestigators.     Enlarged  library  facilities  will  be  needed,  together 


SOUTH     SINCE    THE    WAR  241 

with  the  chair,  as  the  apparatus  and  tools  to  be  handled  in  the 
workshop ;  and  last,  publication  funds,  too,  so  that  everything 
collected  and  worked  up  by  instructor  and  pupil,  if  of  sufficient 
value,  may  be  preserved  and  given  to  the  world.  Indeed, 
publication  is  becoming  so  fully  recognized  as  one  of  the  leading 
functions  of  the  university,  that  in  future  endowments  it  will  be 
felt  that  without  this  provision  a  chair  and  institution  are  in  so 
far  lamed. 

We  wish  and  need  history  to  be  written  on  broader  and 
deeper  foundations.  It  will  not  do  to  regard  ourselves  as  cut 
off  from  the  rest  of  the  universe  in  thought  —  as  having  a 
peculiar  world  all  to  ourselves  and  a  history  of  our  own.  This 
is  true  only  to  the  limited  extent  that  a  peculiar  economic 
system  and  isolated  geographical  position  may  have  imposed  it 
upon  us.  We  must  look  beyond  these  narrow  confines  and,  so 
far  as  possible,  observe  the  trend  of  the  age  and  our  own  share  of 
history  within  it.  We  have  had  recently  addresses  from  two 
great  English  historians,  Mr.  Froude  and  Mr.  Lecky,  on  the 
province  of  history,  and  both  have  interested,  while  one  has 
charmed  us.  But  Mr.  Froude  to  the  contrary,  who  believes 
neither  in  evolution  nor  in  devolution,  in  progress,  science,  nor 
aught  else  in  the  historic  sphere,  and  sees  only  a  stage  crowded 
with  innumerable  figures,  ideas  do  control  men  and  minds  and 
are  stronger  in  a  century  than  any  one  man  or  government ; 
and  he  becomes  the  transcendent  leader  to  posterity,  who  seems 
to  have  best  expressed  the  primary  idea  of  his  day.  We  do 
want  sympathetic  history,  but  let  it  be  pervaded  by  a  sympathy 
that  is  not  narrow,  but  universal,  and  guided  by  a  true  phi- 
losophy. The  advocate's  plea  is  a  distinct  contribution  and 
goes  to  make  up  history;  but  it  is  not  history  itself.  The  judge 
of  last  resort  still  suspends  sentence.  Perhaps  in  some  things 
we  are  still  but  the  advocate,  possibly  in  others  the  judge.  At 
any  rate,  our  activity  should  be  apparent,  and  we  may  at  least 
submit  arguments  to  be  weighed  in  the  discussion,  if  we  may 
not  on  all  questions  award  the  final  word  of  judgment. 


17 


X. 

The  Nestor  of  Hungarian  Letters 


From  The  Sewanee  Review, 
February,  1896 


THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS 

ANY  sincere  self-revelation  of  a  man  in  his  older  years  is 
J~\_  worthy  the  reading.  There  is  a  rich  coloring  borrowed 
from  the  mellow  ripeness  of  his  mature  vision;  the  asperities  of 
time  seem  to  become  softened,  and  memories  cluster  with  a 
holier  nimbus  surrounding  them. 

Particularly  are  the  records  of  such  a  life  interesting,  when  it 
has  formed  a  directing  thread  in  the  complexity  of  that  weaving, 
which  we  designate  a  nation's  history.  Others,  and  they  are  no 
less,  but  even  more,  interesting,  far  from  telling  of  outward  stir 
and  the  confused  bustle  of  action,  convey  deeper  lessons  of 
spiritual  experience  and  aspiring  effort  If  there  be  still  added 
the  grace  and  charm  of  literary  expression,  the  rare  occasion  is 
attained  when  the  man  of  letters  is  writing  of  that  which  con- 
cerns himself  most  and  which  is  closest  to  his  thought  and  heart 
It  is  a  happy  coalition,  indeed,  when  we  find,  in  anyone,  some- 
thing like  a  union  of  all  three;  and  it  is  just  this  something  of  all 
these  impressions  combined  that  we  derive  from  a  perusal  of 
Maurus  Jdkai's  autobiographic  novel,  "Eyes  Like  the  Sea." 

Nor  is  it  an  isolated  case  that  fiction  serves  as  a  loosefitting 
garb  for  autobiographic  details.  Dickens  and  Thackeray  both 
have  read  much  of  their  own  life  experience  into  their  books;  and 
this  is  especially  true  of  Goethe's  "Wilhelm  Meister."  Truth 
and  poetry  are  frequently  indistinguishable,  nor  do  we  care  to 
separate  them  strictly  in  turning  the  leaves  in  any  relation  of 
spiritual  truth.  We  know  that  the  pages  are  true  —  contain 
the  truth  of  thought  and  of  feeling,  if  not  of  detail  and  of  incident 
There  is  the  higher  poetic  truth,  the  creatively  inspiring  imagi- 
native truth,  which  tells  us,  without  the  need  of  any  vouchers,  that 
all  is  true,  if  we  may  quote  Balzac,  though  in  a  different  sense, 
in  his  opening  pages  to  "Le  Pere  Goriot" 

Hungary  and  Hungarian  letters  are  comparatively  little 
known  to  us  far-away  Americans;  besides,  the  Hungarian  is 
almost  the  one  language  in  Europe  that  Aryans  are  in  close 
touch  with,  and  yet  which  belongs  to  the  Asiatic  group.     Trans- 


246  THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS 

lations  are  the  best  that  most  of  us  can  hope  for,  and  it  is,  alas ! 
too  infrequent  that  a  translation  of  any  foreign  book  is  really 
good,  and  that  the  book  itself  possesses  a  genuine  interest.  Let 
us  thank,  then,  Mr.  Nisbet  Bain,  the  translator,  for  giving  us  a 
most  readable  book  in  point  of  style,  possessing  a  brightness 
and  a  vivacity  which  must  have  caught  much  of  its  charm  from 
the  rich  qualities  of  the  original. 

It  will  probably  excite  no  surprise  that  we  may  find  the  most 
conflicting  statements  respecting  the  author  published  in  our 
Sunday  newspapers,  our  highly  respectable  weeklies,  and  our 
monthly  magazines  by  would-be-well-informed  ones  who  ap- 
parently (as  is  befitting  the  modern  journalistic  spirit)  know 
everything  about  everybody.  In  nearly  all — and  with  a  little 
search,  one  can  find  a  deluge  of  material  in  random  columns  — 
there  is  a  delightful  contradiction  among  these  self-constituted 
authorities,  and  the  most  heterodox  opinions  expressed  as  to 
almost  every  question  of  fact  At  length,  in  the  pages  of  the 
August  Forum,  the  author  himself  was  invited  to  set  at  rest  many 
vagaries  by  frankly  fixing  some  necessary  points,  and  reducing 
a  few  dates  from  movable  feasts  to  an  appointed  calendar. 
But  the  fault  here  again  is  that  there  is  too  much  matter  of 
fact;  and  the  author,  in  being  pilloried  before  the  public  gaze  and 
forced  to  give  an  account  of  himself  in  open  court,  after  our 
American  forensic  manner,  is  so  much  less  entertaining  and  de- 
lightful than  in  his  bit  of  historic  fiction,  that  we  ask  no  excuse 
in  ignoring  this  supplementary  evidence,  and  in  remanding  the 
case  to  the  lower  court,  where  he  may  speak  for  himself  and 
tell  just  what  he  pleases  and  how,  in  the  pages  of  his  own  story. 
We  shall  not  be  greatly  bothered  about  ignorance  of  details, 
for  no  perusal  can  leave  any  doubt  of  truthfulness  as  to  the 
spirit.  It  is  in  the  pages  of  the  book  before  us,  crowned  in 
1890  by  the  Hungarian  Academy  as  the  best  book  of  the  year 
in  the  Magyar  tongue,  that  we  can  best  read  the  story  of  the 
author's  life  and  the  contemporary  struggles  of  the  Hungarian 
nation. 

Maurus  Jdkai  is  Hungarian  above  everything,  and  while  near 
to  the  councils  of  his  country  and  loyal  to  his  Emperor  and 


THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS  247 

Empress,  he  is  national,  but  not  Austrian  in  any  other  sense. 
Buda-Pest  —  dear  Buda,  as  their  capital  on  the  lower  Danube 
is  known  —  and  not  the  imperial  city  Vienna,  has  been  his 
residence  and  is  always  his  love.  That  Hungary  had  produced 
musicians,  we  knew  already.  There  was  Franz  Liszt,  a  king  of 
the  pianoforte  and  the  leader  of  a  school.  The  Hungarian 
Rhapsody  constitutes  a  specific  musical  genus.  Joachim,  the 
violinist,  in  point  of  birth  at  least,  is  Hungarian;  as  was 
Remenyi.  Hungarian  dances,  Hungarian  music,  Hungarian 
orchestras,  are  a  common  enough  form  of  advertisement  in 
foreign  and  in  cis-atlantic  capitals. 

Hungarian  letters  are  less  known,  and  in  the  person  of  Jdkai 
we  are  told  that  we  get  acquainted  with  the  best  in  Hungarian 
literature.  And  literature  is  here  taken  in  no  narrow  sense ; 
for  he  has  excelled  in  nearly  all  its  branches — in  poetry, 
history,  drama,  and  the  novel,  not  to  speak  of  years  spent  in 
actively  inspiring  journalistic  work.  But  Jokai  is  even  more 
than  a  writer ;  he  is  the  type  of  a  newly  great  and  aspiring 
nation.  He  was  one  of  the  patriots  of  the  Revolution  of  1848, 
that  gave  Hungary  position  as  an  integral  part  of  the  Austro- 
Hungarian  empire,  and  although  now  an  old  man,  he  is  yet  a 
virile  figure.  He  participated  in  the  Kossuth  struggles,  and 
has  outlived  the  martyr-patriot  Indeed,  his  impress  on  the 
Hungarian  mind  has  been,  in  some  respects,  doubtless,  even 
greater  than  that  of  the  famous  Dictator,  for,  in  the  number 
and  continuity  and  varied  character  of  his  works,  he  has  been 
called  the  voice  of  Modern  Hungary.  It  is  chiefly  through  his 
writings,  political,  satirical,  humorous,  historic,  poetic,  dramatic, 
and  romantic,  that  the  aspirations  of  the  Magyar  folk  have 
found  expression  and  thus  become  promulgated  to  the  world. 
No  achievement,  no  disaster,  no  hope,  no  sorrow,  in  the  life  of 
Hungary  since  its  new  birth,  that  has  not  been  voiced  some- 
where in  his  varied  production.  Thousands  who  could  not 
read  his  books,  it  is  claimed,  have  learned  by  heart  his  songs, 
and  have  thus  come  to  feel  their  country's  hopes  and  pos- 
sibilites.  It  is  not  strange,  then,  that  his  literary  position  has 
been  compared  to   that  of  Victor  Hugo  and   Dumas  pere  in 


248  THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS 

France,  and  to  the  place  long  kept  in  British  hearts  and  in  the 
development  of  the  English  novel  by  good  Sir  Walter.  And, 
again,  like  another  poet-patriot  of  another  nation,  Schiller, 
Jdkai's  youth  was  characterized  by  storm  and  stress,  and  he 
exposed  zealously,  and  even  foolishly,  a  life  for  those  three 
words  that  have  often  proved  the  touchstone  of  both  the  rarest 
nobility  and  the  direst  madness,  Liberty,  Fraternity,  Equality. 

Two  years  ago,  on  January  6,  1894,  his  country  celebrated 
his  literary  jubilee  —  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  his  first  scarcely 
recognized  poetic  drama — making  the  turn  of  a  half-century  in 
his  career  as  peculiarly  the  national  voice  of  Hungary  and 
the  Magyar  folk.  They  hold  more  account  of  anniversaries, 
generally,  everywhere  in  Europe  than  we  do,  and  a  jubilee  is 
particularly  sacred.  The  jubilee  of  a  great  writer,  a  great  figure 
in  any  sphere,  is  a  splendid  occasion.  It  is  his  public  and 
professional  Golden  Wedding,  celebrating  the  life-long  union 
with  his  mistress,  muse,  or  goddess,  as  the  case  may  be,  Scien- 
tia,  Politic  a,  or  Lit  tern. 

Some  of  the  circumstances  attending  Jdkai's  jubilee  were 
touching  in  the  extreme,  and  well  sufficed  to  make  the  old 
man  feel  it  is  enough  of  life  to  live.  For  it  was  a  jubilee  of  the 
nation,  a  celebration  of  their  national  greatness,  and  every  class 
in  society,  from  the  throne  to  the  peasant,  had  some  part  in  it. 
There  were  processions  and  floral  emblems,  orations  and  odes, 
dinners  and  drinkings ;  but  the  special  literary  feature  was  an 
edition  de  luxe  of  Jdkai's  collected  works.  Something  like  a 
hundred  dollars  a  set  was  the  price  fixed,  and  the  average 
Hungarian  is  not  rich,  yet  the  demand  reached  easily,  it  is  said, 
a  thousand  copies.  The  profits  were  to  go  to  Jdkai  himself, 
and  it  is  estimated  that  he  received  $50,000  as  his  share,  a 
noble  tribute  and  a  splendid  gift  to  the  writer,  who  is  by  no 
means  wealthy.  To  subscribe  became  a  matter  of  national  dig- 
nity. The  list  was  headed  by  Elizabeth,  Queen  of  Hungary  and 
Empress  of  Austria  (who  is  claimed  as  a  life-long  friend  and 
admirer  of  the  poet),  and  by  the  widow  of  the  late  Crown  Prince 
Rudolph.  There  were  numerous  Archdukes  and  Archduchesses 
(for  these  are  very  plentiful  in  Austria-Hungary)  on  the  list,  also 


THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS  249 

ministers  of  state  and  quondam  dignitaries,  among  others  Cardi- 
nal Vaszary  and  Count  Kalnoky.  And  the  blessed  school 
children  and  the  poorer  people  combined  and  together  made 
up  the  requisite  sums  to  receive  sets  as  their  joint  property. 
Far  more,  herein  lies  the  undying  and  divine  voice  of  the 
national  heart,  and  the  writer's  real  vindication  for  future  fame. 
"Illustrious  personages  pass  away  and  vanish,"  he  is  reported 
as  having  declared,  "but  the  people  never  die." 

From  various  sources  we  glean  that  he  was  born  in  1825. 
He  himself  says,  in  his  story,  that  he  was  twenty-four  when  the 
Revolution  of  1848  broke  out  His  birth-place  was  Komorn 
or  Komarom.  His  father  was  a  lawyer  ("advocate"  is  the 
common  European  term  for  this  species)  and  he  was  of  a  good 
and  ancient  family,  the  final  "i"  in  the  name  having  some- 
what the  same  value  as  de  in  French  and  von  in  German.  The 
family  were  strict  Calvinists,  and  it  surprises  one  at  first  to  know 
of  so  intense  a  Calvinistic  population  in  the  heart  of  the  natural 
territory  of  the  Roman  Church.  These  two  forms  of  religious 
creed  and  dogma  —  Calvinist  and  Romanist — the  author  is 
perfectly  familiar  with  and  equally  tolerant  of,  in  the  present 
volume.  For  himself  he  is  apparently  too  national  in  spirit  to 
be  illiberal. 

Literary  genius  usually  buds  early,  especially  when  planted 
and  watered,  as  Jdkai's  ever  fruitful  tree  has  been.  His  first 
poem,  we  are  gravely  told,  was  composed  at  the  age  of  six.  It 
is  hardly  in  the  collected  works ;  however,  it  actually  got  pub- 
lished somehow,  filling  a  corner,  conveniently,  of  an  Hungarian 
weekly  newspaper;  and,  we  believe,  some  one  in  a  fit  of 
questionable  zeal,  has  recently  fished  it  out  for  exposure.  His 
first  novel  was  certainly  written  at  seventeen  while  at  school, 
and  its  very  title,  "Ordeal,"  indicated  the  influences  the  youthful 
imagination  was  working  under.  This  was,  naturally,  not  only 
more  mature,  but  more  ambitious,  than  the  poem,  and  was  given 
a  prize  by  the  students  and  professors  of  the  Lyceum.  After  es- 
saying lyric  poetry  and  the  novel,  the  next  flight  of  fluttering  liter- 
ary genius,  if  it  thrives  in  a  continental  country,  is  with  the  drama. 
This  our  author  attempts  in  poetic  dress,  producing  the  dramatic 


260  THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS 

poem,  "The  Hebrew  Boy,"  or  "The  Jew  Son,"  or  "The  Infant 
Jew,"  as  one  may  find  it  variously  referred  to  in  translation. 
It  seems  to  have  been  the  date  of  this  production,  January  6, 
1 844  (for  one  must  begin  somewhere),  that  was  celebrated  in 
the  author's  jubilee.  Since  he  had  won  a  prize  at  school,  the 
drama  was  placed  in  competition  for  more  worthy  laurels,  the 
prize  offered  by  the  Hungarian  Academy  of  Sciences  (for  thus 
they  stimulate  original  production  abroad  in  "effete  monar- 
chies") for  the  best  dramatic  work  of  real  literary  merit.  Jcikai's 
effort  failed  to  secure  the  prize,  but  he  received  at  least  an 
"honorable  mention,"  and  thus  stimulated,  began  the  long 
career  in  letters  which,  with  all  diversions,  was  to  prove  his 
real  profession. 

These  early  days  —  the  days  of  his  youth  —  are  told  de- 
lightfully in  reminiscence  in  the  first  pages  of  "Eyes  Like  the 
Sea."  As  a  true  poet,  he  was  susceptible,  of  course,  to  the 
charms  of  young  women,  and  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  explain 
that  it  was  one  of  these  who  possessed  the  "  Eyes  Like  the  Sea;" 
nor  is  it  further  necessary  to  say  that  it  is  not  of  the  lady  he 
afterwards  married  that  he  speaks  thus. 

The  young  man  enjoyed  the  very  process  of  living;  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  him,  as  were  all  life's  little  amenities.  Fresh,  bright 
glimpses  of  Hungarian  customs  and  manners  are  common 
enough  in  his  pages.  We  all  know  of  the  Hungarian  waltzes 
and  the  Hungarian  dances,  even  if  some  of  us  have  not  made 
a  failure  at  one  time  or  another  in  attempting  them.  Jdkai 
would  have  us  believe  that  the  good  old  days  were  far  better 
than  the  present.     We  catch  his  very  enthusiasm ! 

"Now,  the  waltzes  of  those  days  were  very  different  from  the 
waltzes  we  dance  now.  The  waltz  of  today  is  a  mere  joke;  but 
waltzing  then  was  a  serious  business.  Both  partners  kept  the 
upper  parts  of  their  bodies  as  far  apart  as  possible,  whilst  their 
feet  were  planted  close  together.  Then  the  upper  parts  went 
moving  off  to  the  same  time,  and  the  legs  were  obliged  to  slide 
as  quickly  as  they  could  after  the  flying  bodies.  It  was  a  dance 
worthy  of  will-o'-the-wisps." 

It  is  in  one  of  these  whiskings  away  that  he  falls  under  the 


THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS  261 

spell  of  the  "Eyes  Like  the  Sea."  To  save  his  partner  from 
tumbling,  he  falls  on  his  knees.  The  rest  of  the  episode  can  be 
told  only  in  quotation. 

"I  split  my  pantaloons  just  above  the  knee.  I  was  an- 
nihilated.    A  greater  blow  than  that  can  befall  no  man. 

"Bessy  laughed  at  my  desperate  situation,  but  the  next 
moment  she  had  compassion  upon  me. 

"'Wait  a  bit,'  said  she,  'and  I'll  sew  it  up  with  my  darning 
needle.'  ...  In  her  great  haste  she  pricked  me  to  the  very 
quick  with  the  beneficent  but  dangerous  implement 

'"I  didn't  prick  you,  did  I?'  she  asked,  looking  at  me  with 
those  large  eyes  of  hers  which  seemed  to  speak  of  such  goodness 
of  heart 

"'No,'  I  said,  yet  I  felt  the  prick  of  that  needle  even  then. 

"Then  we  went  on  dancing.  I  distinguished  myself  marvel- 
ously.  With  a  needle  prick  in  my  knee,  and  another  who 
knows  where,  I  whirled  Bessy  three  times  round  the  room,  so 
that  when  I  brought  her  back  to  the  garde  des  dames,  it  seemed 
to  me  as  if  three  and  thirty  mothers,  aunts,  and  companions 
were  revolving  around  me." 

This  is  the  spirit  throughout  the  book  that  stirs  our  blood 
and  makes  us  live  and  love  with  him. 

He  was  pretending  to  study  law  meanwhile,  and  had  de- 
termined to  follow  the  profession  of  his  father;  but  it  was  very 
evident  that  he  had  at  this  time  another  mistress  far  more 
jealous  than  either  law  or  the  pursuit  of  letters.  Even  his 
dramatic  success  ranked  only  second  after  an  opportunity  to  be 
dancing  with  some  charmer  like  this  young  lady  with  the 
wonderful  eyes.  The  incident  already  related  occurred  at  the 
dancing  school  of  M.  Galifard. 

"I  am  really  most  grateful  to  Monsieur  Galifard.  I  have  to 
thank  him  for  the  first  distinction  I  ever  enjoyed  in  my  life. 
This  was  the  never-to-be-forgotten  circumstance  that  when  my 
colleagues,  the  young  hopefuls  of  the  Academy  of  Jurisprudence 
at  Kecskemet,  gave  a  lawyers'  ball,  they  unanimously  chose  me 
to  be  the  elotdnczos  [leader].  To  this  day  I  am  proud  of  that 
distinction;  what  must  I  have  been  then?    On  the  heels  of  this 


252  THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS 

honor  speedily  came  a  second.  The  very  same  year  the  Hun- 
garian Academy  of  Sciences,  on  the  occasion  of  the  competition 
for  the  Teleki  prize,  honorably  mentioned  my  tragedy,  'The 
Jew  Boy,'  and  there  were  even  two  competent  judges,  Voros- 
marty  and  Bajza  [they  were  the  names  of  two  of  the  best 
known  contemporary  Hungarian  writers  and  poets],  who  con- 
sidered it  worthy  of  the  prize.  .  .  .  When,  therefore,  I  returned 
to  my  native  town,  after  an  absence  of  three  years,  I  found  that 
a  certain  renommee  had  preceded  me.  I  had  also  very  good 
reasons  for  returning  home.  The  legal  curriculum  in  my  time 
embraced  four  years.  The  third  year  was  given  to  the  patveria, 
the  fourth  year  to  the  jurateria  [terms  denoting  different 
branches  of  the  Hungarian  law].  Every  respectable  man  goes 
through  the  patveria  in  his  own  country  but  the  jurateria  at 
Buda-Pest."  From  this  we  see,  and,  indeed,  from  his  later 
journalistic  and  legislative  performances,  that  it  was  a  very 
respectable  training  in  legal  principles  which  he  must  have  had, 
nevertheless. 

He  tells  further  of  himself  with  a  somewhat  charming  air  of 
egotism: 

"And  I  had  something  else  to  boast  of,  too.  In  my  leisure 
hours  I  painted  portraits,  miniatures  in  oil.  So  well  did  I  hit 
off  the  judge  of  Osziny  (and  he  did  not  give  me  a  sitting  either) 
that  everyone  recognized  him ;  but  a  still  greater  sensation  was 
caused  by  my  portrait  of  the  wife  of  the  Procurator  Fiscal,  who 
passed  for  one  of  the  prettiest  women  in  the  town."  Of  course, 
this  last  touch  had  to  be  added. 

Appreciation  of  the  truest  principles  of  one  art  lies  very 
close  to  that  of  another,  and  many  in  our  day  and  of  our  own 
tongue  have  pursued  both,  not  to  disadvantage.  Had  not  law 
and  letters  and  life  and  love  —  the  four  great  l's  alliterating  so 
allusively  to  the  imagination  of  the  average  college-bred  young 
man  —  so  deeply  absorbed  his  attention  it  seems  possible  that  he 
might  have  gained  some  note,  too,  as  an  artist. 

The  high  animal  spirits  proceed : 

"And  yet,  despite  all  this,  when  in  the  following  Shrovetide, 
the    Lord    Lieutenant  gave    a   ball  to  the  county  (they  were 


THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS  263 

something  like  Lord  Lieutenants  in  those  days),  I  was  not  called 
upon  to  open  the  ball!  Ungrateful  Fatherland!"  And  then 
comes  the  passion  of  still  another  Hungarian  dance:  "Ah! 
that  kormagyar.  That  is  something  like  a  dance.  It  requires 
enthusiasm  to  dance  that." 

These  pictures  of  light-hearted  youth  —  and  they  give  a  fair 
example  of  the  easy  and  allusive  style  so  well  adapted  for 
reminiscence — are  not  without  their  charm  and  fascination. 
The  same  darning  needle  played  chief  role  in  another  episode 
equally  dramatic.  The  "Eyes  Like  the  Sea"  had  detected  a 
wart  on  his  right  hand  just  below  the  thumb,  and  above  the 
artery,  which  she  promised  to  rid  him  of. 

"•It  will  smart  dreadfully.  But  if  a  girl  can  stand  it,  you 
can,'"  she  said,  and  then  proceeded  to  torture  him  by  calcining 
it  with  the  needle  red  hot  "It  is  thus  that  the  demons  of  hell 
must  look  upon  those  whom  they  are  roasting!  'Does  it  hurt?' 
she  hissed  between  her  teeth.  She  appeared  to  be  in  a  state  of 
ecstatic  delight     'It  hurts,  but  it  is  not  the  needle.'" 

It  is  not  often  that  an  author  gives  glimpses  into  the  privacy 
of  his  workshop  and  shows  us,  so  far  as  it  can  be  shown,  the 
secret  of  his  art  Jdkai  is  as  confiding  at  times  as  Thackeray, 
though  with  a  difference,  and  makes  a  friend  of  his  readers,  for 
he  has  come  to  know  they  are  his  friends  and  he  doesn't  mind 
telling  them  things  in  confidence.  Incidentally  an  almost  ex- 
aggerated wealth  in  figure  and  color  is  disclosed. 

"'Working  and  walking  at  the  same  time?'"  the  Eyes  ask. 
" '  Such  is  my  habit  I  work  out  the  whole  scene  in  my  head 
first  of  all,  down  to  the  smallest  details,  so  that  when  I  sit  down 
it  is  a  mere  mechanical  a-b-c  sort  of  business.' 

"'Then,  according  to  that,  when  you  are  marching  with  rapid 
strides  up  and  down  that  long  path,  you  neither  hear  nor  see 
anything? ' 

"'Pardon  me,  I  see  grass,  trees,  flowers,  birds,  stumps  of 
trees,  and  huts  of  reeds  overgrown  with  brambles.  Amongst 
all  these  I  weave  my  thoughts  like  the  meshes  of  a  spider's 
web.  And  I  hear,  too.  I  hear  the  piping  of  the  yellow- 
hammer,  the  twittering  of  the  titmouse,  the  notes  of  the  horn 


254  THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS 

from  distant  ships,  the  humming  of  the  gnats,  and  they  all  have 
something  to  whisper  to  me,  something  to  tell  me.  A  buzzing 
wasp  lends  wings  to  my  imagination ;  but  if  I  meet  a  human 
face,  the  whole  thing  flies  out  of  my  thoughts,  and  a  single 
'your  humble  servant'  will  dissolve  utterly  my  fata  Morgana, 
until  I  turn  back  and  reconstruct  the  ends  of  my  spider's  web 
among  the  freshly-discovered  reed-built  huts,  tree-trunks,  and 
trailing  flowers,  when  the  well-known  voices  of  the  dwellers  in  the 
wilderness  bring  back  to  me  again  my  scattered  ideas;  then  I 
retreat  into  the  little  wooden  summer-house  in  our  garden,  and 
there,  disturbed  by  nobody,  I  transfer  to  paper  the  images  which 
stand  before  my  mind.'  " 

It  was  in  this  little  summer-house  that  the  first  romance  was 
written,  which  he  confesses  he  loved  "just  as  much  as  a  man  loves 
his  first  born,  though  it  may  be  deformed  by  all  sorts  of  physical 
and  spiritual  defects."  Where  is  the  young  bird  that  does  not 
like  to  feel  its  wings  and  soar  ?  and  where  is  the  newly-fledged 
author  who  does  not  delight  in  reading  aloud  his  own  creations? 
Great  aspirations  were  those  flaming  in  the  heart  of  the  youth, 
aspiring  to  pull  down  some  of  the  leaves  of  Apollo's  laurels  for 
his  own  brow.  The  young  mind,  in  full  belief  of  future  entrance 
upon  its  kingdom,  despises  ordinary  values.  Only  images  of 
pure  gold  flit  before  the  eyes,  and  the  jewels  of  the  imagination 
are  all  pearls  of  great  price. 

The  young  man  might  have  remained  fascinated  and  absorbed 
and  made  incapable  of  all  serious  effort  had  it  not  been  for  an 
opportune  bit  of  ridicule.  The  extreme  sensitiveness  to  shame 
and  laughter  occupies  a  prominent  place  in  others  of  Jdkai's 
works  —  can  it  be  a  special  Hungarian  mark?  It  was  only  by 
a  break  with  all  the  attractions  of  this  delightful  and  alluring 
provincial  society,  a  break  effected  by  his  sweet,  gentle,  sensible 
mother,  that  he  resolved  within  twenty-four  hours  to  take  the 
first  boat  to  Buda-Pest,  and  was  on  his  way. 

Jokai  speaks  of  his  mother  very  feelingly  and  tenderly  —  of 
her  love,  her  care,  above  all  of  her  wisdom.  It  was  chiefly  to 
her,  as  we  have  just  said,  that  this  sudden  tearing  away  from 
the  seductive  influences  of  his  native  town  occurred  and  that  he 


THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS  265 

passed  out  to  the  capital  city  and  into  the  great  world.  It  is 
very  often  the  little  things  that  affect  human  lives  most  deeply. 
It  was  a  small  thing  for  a  bit  of  pride  to  strive  with  mocking 
laughter,  but  it  removed  him  from  the  atmosphere  of  a  provin- 
cial town  and  introduced  him  to  the  large  city  which  was  to  be 
the  future  theatre  of  his  literary  work.  His  promise  and  career 
were  no  longer  to  be  locked  up  in  a  retired  corner,  but  were  to 
become  national. 

Yet  he  was  not  destined  to  a  legal  career.  He  was  licensed 
to  practise  law,  it  is  true,  but  he  turned  at  once  with  unerring 
instinct  to  journalism,  and  has  written  industriously,  in  one 
form  or  another  (probably  even  too  much,  sometimes)  ever  since. 
This  was  before  his  twentieth  year,  and  the  jubilee  was  before 
his  seventieth.  How  industrious  a  man  can  be  and  how  much 
work  one  can  do  in  fifty  years  is  seen  by  his  output.  "Three 
hundred  and  fifty  volumes,  bound,  according  to  the  caprice  of 
the  publisher,  in  a  variety  of  sizes,  constitute  the  first  complete 
edition  of  my  works,"  he  says  in  his  Forum  article,  thus  making 
an  average  of  seven  volumes  a  year,  not  to  count  a  good  deal  of 
more  or  less  journalistic  hack-work.  And  yet  he  had  time,  be- 
sides, to  be  a  lawyer,  nominally,  to  become  editor  of  numerous 
papers,  to  be  a  parliamentarian,  to  engage  in  a  Revolution,  to 
be  banished,  to  be  condemned  to  death,  and  to  indulge  in  a 
number  of  similar  passetemps. 

Of  Jokai's  large  number  of  works  (most  of  which  are  novel- 
ettes and  novels,  besides  a  half-dozen  dramas)  comparatively  few 
have  been  done  into  English.  German  is  the  one  western  lan- 
guage into  which  nearly  all  have  been  rendered,  naturally  from 
the  relations  of  Hungary  to  the  Austrian  empire  and  its  capital 
Vienna;  though  the  author  has  been  honored  by  translation  in 
part  into  at  least  a  dozen  tongues.  The  translator  of  the  present 
volume  modestly  confesses  that  he  has  read  only  twenty-five  out 
of  Jokai's  one  hundred  and  fifty  novels.  Incidentally,  it  may  be 
said  that  perhaps  the  best  known  in  English,  apart  from  the 
present  volume,  is  "Timar's  Two  Worlds,"  recently  published  by 
Messrs.  Appleton  &  Co. —  a  strong  story  of  a  double  life,  of 
strength  and  of  weakness,  of  honor  and  of  crime.    "In  Love  with 


266  THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS 

the  Czarina"  is  a  collection  of  short  sketches,  mainly  historical, 
gotten  out  by  an  English  house.  Finally  the  Cassell's  Sunshine 
Series  of  novels  contains  several;  as,  for  instance,  "There  Is  No 
Devil;"  but  these  are  in  such  a  form  that  the  reader  cannot  be 
quite  sure  as  to  the  accuracy  and  aptness  of  the  translation,  or 
to  the  extent  to  which  excision  has  been  applied  and  a  height- 
ening of  effect  introduced  for  the  sake  of  sheer  sensationalism, 
and  to  satisfy  a  flagrantly  lurid  imagination. 

For  Jdkai  is  not  averse  here  and  there  to  startling  his  readers 
by  a  picture  or  an  idea  or  a  suggestion ;  it  is  one  of  his  frequent 
effects.  He  can  expose  with  a  few  words  some  conventionality 
and  tear  away,  upon  occasion,  the  flimsy  covering  of  propriety, 
and  now  and  then  it  takes  a  strong  pair  of  eyes  to  stand  the 
bright  light  without  blinking. 

It  was  in  Buda-Pest  that  Jdkai  had  full  bent  for  his  literary 
genius.  He  was  already  considered  worthy  of  notice  by  some 
of  the  most  prominent  Hungarian  writers  of  the  time ;  he 
claimed,  in  fact,  an  intimacy  with  more  than  one.  The  poet, 
Alexander  Petofi,  author  of  "Talpra  Magyar"  (To  arms!  ye 
men  of  Hungary)  and  beloved  everywhere  in  the  kingdom  as 
the  Hungarian  Robert  Burns,  '  was  a  former  schoolmate  of 
Jdkai's.  The  two  friends  fostered  kindred  sentiments  and  aspi- 
rations, both  for  the  freedom  of  their  native  land  and  for  the 
high  purposes  of  art,  and  their  conversations  on  these  subjects 
became  long  and  earnest.  Petofi  was  the  older,  in  the  season 
of  his  renown,  and  lent  encouragement  to  Jdkai's  efforts,  giving 
him  what  he  needed  so  much,  the  practical  common-sense  ad- 
vice of  a  man  of  the  world.  On  one  visit,  which  our  author 
describes,  Petofi  took  out  of  his  host's  hands  the  manuscript  of 
"Every-Day  Days"  (one  of  Jdkai's  earlier  works  which  its  author 
was  in  doubt  how  to  dispose  of)  turned  over  the  leaves  and  read 
the  headings  of  the  chapters.  "That  was  an  original  idea  of 
yours,  I  must  say,  to  choose  mottoes  from  popular  ballads  for 
your  chapter  headings.  I'll  take  this  with  me  to  Pest  and  get 
it  published,"  was  the  friend's  final  comment.     At  the  same  time 

1  So  designated,  as  well  as  translated,  by  Sir  John  Bowring. 


THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS  257 

he  counted  out  twenty-seven  silver  florins  as  the  price  of  early 
attempts  he  had  succeeded  in  selling  for  his  friend  to  the  pub- 
lishers. It  was  Jokai's  first  literary  return,  and  he  tells  us  that 
he  felt  he  was  a  Rothschild.  And  thus  the  fateful  compact 
with  the  muse  of  letters  was  subscribed  to  and  sealed. 

It  was  Petofi's  advice,  too,  that  led  him  to  give  up  competing 
for  the  Academy  prize  for  which  he  had  once  been  defeated,  and 
to  write  pieces  directly  for  acceptance  by  the  theatre,  and  most 
of  all,  to  get  to  Buda-Pest  as  soon  as  possible.  This  was  the 
advice  he  had  now  followed,  and  Petofi's  was  the  society  to 
which  he  naturally  gravitated.  His  drifting  towards  journalism 
was  equally  inevitable,  and  in  his  vain  strivings,  at  first,  to  get 
something  to  do,  he  admits,  jocularly  enough  now,  that  he  even 
came  perilously  near  being  a  critic.  From  the  company  he  kept 
in  Buda-Pest,  and  by  his  natural  inclinations,  the  gifted,  im- 
petuous, young  man  was  plunged  into  politics,  and  with  politics 
there  insinuated  themselves  gradually  dreams  of  freedom  for  his 
beloved  country.  He  had  previously  been  a  member  of  a  philan- 
thropic society,  indulging  in  schemes  for  the  amelioration  and 
freedom  of  those  condemned  for  life  to  penal  servitude.  An 
enthusiastic  band  of  young  literary  men  are  most  susceptible  to 
just  these  influences,  and  can  very  easily  sacrifice  themselves  on 
the  altars  kindled  with  such  fires.  It  was  the  year  1848,  the  age  of 
revolutions,  and  the  flames  breaking  out  in  the  streets  of  Paris, 
spread  themselves  into  every  European  state.  It  was  in  1848 
that  Prussia  received  the  basis  of  her  present  constitution.  It 
was  in  1848  that  Hungary  took  steps  which  later  led  to  her 
recognition  as  a  separate  kingdom  and  an  integral  part  of  an 
empire  formed  on  new  lines.  Also  1848  was  the  real  date  of 
the  awakening  and  the  recognition   of  the  Hungarian  masses. 

It  was  the  'storm  and  stress'  period  of  the  youth  as  he  entered 
into  the  broad  arena  of  life.  How  revolutionary  and  bitter 
many  of  his  early  writings  were,  and  how  he  has  lived  to  laugh 
over  a  good  deal  that  was  in  them  himself!  "The  paroxysms  of 
a  crushed  spirit,  the  dreamy  phantoms  of  a  diseased  imagination, 
self-contempt,  a  moon-sick  view  of  the  world  in  general,  charac- 
terize all  my  tales  belonging  to  that  period,"  he  declares.  It 
18 


258  THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS 

was  a  time  for  mental  disquiet  and  distortion,  and  a  period  of 
weltschmerz  for  his  youth,  as  well  as  for  Hungary  as  a  nation, 
and  all  his  feelings  bore  this  color.  The  warning  voice  was  not 
missing,  but  came  to  him  declaring  "the  path  along  which  you 
are  now  rushing  so  impetuously  leads  straight  to  the  gallows  — 
or  else  to  suicide."  In  Jokai's  case  it  came  near  to  both;  his 
friend,  Alexander  Petofi,  the  national  lyrist,  was  happy  in  losing 
his  life  on  a  battlefield  for  Independence. 

It  is  the  vivid  picture  of  the  Revolution  of  1848  and  his  own 
share  and  experience  therein  which  forms,  historically,  the  most 
valuable  part  of  the  volume  "Eyes  Like  the  Sea."  The  mere 
facts  are  that  he  was  at  first  editor  of  a  notorious  weekly  news- 
paper in  1846,  and  when,  in  1848-9,  the  flames  of  the  Revolution 
burst  forth  in  their  intensity,  he  was  a  prominent  figure  in  all. 
It  was  he  who  proclaimed  in  1848  "The  Twelve  Articles  of 
Pest,"  the  Hungarian  pronunciamentoof  civil  rights  and  liberty. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  scene,  both  animated  by  a  common 
purpose,  that  he  and  the  woman  of  his  fate  met.  Rosa  Labor- 
falvi1  was  the  greatest  of  Hungarian  tragediennes,  and  was 
present  in  the  crowd  and  exhibited  a  like  enthusiasm  and  even 
madness. 

The  scene  of  their  meeting  is  a  fine  one.  The  rain  was  falling 
and  was  almost  threatening  to  quench  the  sparks  of  revolution 
in  the  kindling.  The  circumstances  are  given  in  Jdkai's  own 
words : 

I  noticed  that  there  were  not  only  gentlemen  around  me,  but  ladies 
also.  A  pair  of  them  had  insinuated  themselves  close  to  my  side.  In 
one  of  them  I  recognized  "  Queen  Gertrude "  [as  the  actress  was 
known  who  excelled  in  that  part] .  On  her  head  she  wore  a  plumed 
cap,  and  was  wrapped  up  in  a  Persian  shawl  embroidered  with  palm- 
tree  flowers.  Both  cap  and  shawl  were  dripping  with  rain.  I  had  met 
the  lady  once  or  twice  at  the  Szigligetis'.  I  exhorted  the  ladies  to  go 
home;  here  they  would  get  dripping  wet,  I  said,  and  some  other 
accident  might  befall  them.  "  We  are  no  worse  off  here  than  you 
are,"  was  the  reply.  They  were  determined  to  wait  till  the  printed 
broadsides  were  ready. 


*She  was  not  the  wife  of  Jokai's  friend,  the  poet  Petofi,  as  one  of  the 
many  biographical  sketches  loosely  states. 


THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS  259 

The  insurgents  next  proceeded  to  the  Town  Hall,  there  to 
ratify  the  "Articles"  and  then  scatter  them  abroad.  In  the 
evening  the  whole  town  was  illuminated  in  honor,  and  a  free 
performance  was  determined  upon  at  the  theatre.  Here  pande- 
monium reigned:  the  performance  was  too  tame  a  procedure 
and  had  come  to  a  stop;  the  revolution  had  begun  in  earnest;  for 
a  moment  everything  seemed  lost. 

The  author  continues: 

Then  a  thought  occurred  to  me.  I  could  get  on  the  stage  from 
Nyiry's  box ;  I  rushed  in  through  the  side  wings. 

I  cut  a  pretty  figure  I  must  say.  I  was  splashed  up  to  the  knees 
with  mud  from  scouring  the  streets  all  day.  I  wore  huge,  dirty,  over- 
shoes, my  tall  hat  was  drenched,  so  that  I  could  easily  have  made  a 
crush  hat  of  it  and  carried  it  under  my  arm. 

I  looked  around  me  and  perceived  Egressy.  I  told  him  to  draw  up 
the  curtain,  I  wanted  to  harangue  the  people  from  the  stage. 

Then  "Queen  Gertrude"  came  towards  me.  She  smiled  upon  me 
with  truly  majestic  grace,  greeted  me,  and  pressed  my  hand.  No  sign 
of  fear  was  to  be  seen  in  her  face.  She  was  wearing  the  tri-colored 
cockade  on  her  bosom,  and,  of  her  own  accord,  she  took  it  off  and 
pinned  it  on  my  breast    Then  the  curtain  was  raised. 

The  bit  of  ribbon  rosette,  in  the  Hungarian  colors  —  red, 
white,  and  green  —  proved  the  salvation  of  the  hour.  To  wear 
the  cockade  himself,  everyone  had  first  to  hurry  home;  the 
theatre  was  soon  emptied  and  peace  was  preserved. 

I  hastened  after  Rosa  Laborfalvi  as  soon  as  this  scene  was  over,  and 
pressed  her  hand.  With  that  pressure  of  our  hands  our  engagement 
began. 

In  1849  Jdkai  joined  with  the  fortunes  of  the  Hungarian 
government  at  Debreczin,  began  editing  another  newspaper, 
and  was  present  at  the  capitulation  of  Vilagos  on  August  29. 
Death  stared  him  in  the  face  as  a  rebel.  Many  of  the  Hun- 
garian leaders  fell  on  their  swords  like  King  Saul  and  his  armor 
bearer  to  escape  worse  than  death  at  the  hands  of  the  Philistines; 
and  J6kai,  too,  had  resolved  himself  upon  a  like  fate.  In  this 
hour  of  need,  he  was  saved  both  from  the  enemy  and  from  him- 
self by  the  woman  of  his  life.  His  heroic  wife,  who  had  shared 
every  anxiety  as  well  as  hope,  who  seemed  to  use  her  role  at  the 
theatre  as  mere  preparation  for  taking  part  in  more  real  and 


260  THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS 

living  tragedies  of  the  human  soul,  followed  him  up  and  came 
to  him  in  the  hour  of  despondency,  and  by  her  woman's  wit  and 
tact  and  love  saved  a  star  to  Hungary  and  to  the  world.  In 
one  point  at  least  like  Milton,  his  gifts  were  to  unfold  still 
further  in  time  of  peace.  The  wife  had  shrewdly  converted  all 
her  jewels  and  finery  into  gold,  she  helped  her  husband  disguise 
himself,  and  cheating  the  hostile  government  of  its  prey,  in  the 
character  of  peasants  they  made  their  way  on  foot  through  the 
heart  of  the  Russian  army,  in  search  of  a  secure  hiding-place  in 
the  obscure  depths  of  the  vast  forests.  As  the  author  himself 
portrays  it  in  the  pages  of  his  own  book,  it  seems  providential. 

Jdkai  was  to  remain  hidden  in  the  deep  beech  forests  while 
his  wife  returned  to  Pest  to  resume  her  engagement  at  the 
National  Theatre.  If  they  could  win  back  Jdkai's  patrimony, 
they  intended  purchasing  a  little  property  in  the  heart  of  the 
beeches,  close  to  his  father-in-law,  and  plough  and  sow  the  rest 
of  thier  days.  He  plaintively  asks:  "What  else  could  we  do? 
Our  country,  our  nation,  our  liberty  were  now  no  more.  Our 
souls  had  no  wings.     We  stuck  fast  in  the  mire." 

Meanwhile,  his  wife  encountered  many  difficulties  at  the 
capital.  The  National  Theatre  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the 
opposing  element,  the  Germans.  Her  husband  could  only  write 
to  her  by  most  indirect  methods.  From  August  till  the  middle 
of  October  he  remained  in  the  dark  forest,  his  impatient  soul 
knowing  absolutely  nothing  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  world 
around  him.  Shut  in  by  such  scenes  and  occupied  alone  by  his 
thoughts,  he  abandons  himself  to  his  inborn  love  of  nature,  turns 
the  inner  eye  of  memory  back  over  the  past,  and  gives  vent  in 
glowing  burning  words  to  his  feelings  and  impressions,  as  they 
surge  within  his  breast  or  pass  in  review  before  him.  A  certain 
impatience  seizes  hold  upon  him,  and  a  spirit  of  bitterness  and 
intense  hatred  towards  all  his  surroundings  and  conditions 
creeps  over  him  —  the  existent  conditions  of  his  country  and 
her  people.  "Alas!  thou  white-antlered  hind  of  our  ancient 
leader  Almos,  whither  hast  thou  led  us  ?  Would  that  thou  hadst 
left  us  in  Asia!  There,  at  any  rate,  we  would  not  have  been 
obliged  to  learn  German!  " 


THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS  281 

In  the  power  of  description,  disclosing  the  vast  depths  of  forest 
stretching  far  into  the  unknown,  and  the  high  boulders  piled  up 
in  their  immensity,  and  in  the  feeling  for  beauty,  commingled 
with  the  intensity  of  dramatic  interest  nowhere  let  go,  the  book 
has  rich  charms.  But  these  passages  must  be  left  to  the  reader, 
and  it  is  obviously  unfair  to  deal  too  liberally  with  extracts. 

Vivid  descriptions,  however,  are  even  better  fitted  to  revo- 
lutionary scenes  of  burning  and  pillage  and  horror  than  to  idyllic 
landscape.  His  native  village  falls  a  prey  to  the  flames  of  war 
and  of  rapine.  The  recital  is  set  forth,  adroitly  enough,  in  the 
words  of  the  woman  with  the  Eyes  like  the  Sea  —  and  all  the 
vivid  glories  of  the  fatal  scene  are  portrayed,  in  language  hurry- 
ing us  on  tumultously,  and  recalling,  not  a  little,  the  highly 
colored  horror  and  rapid  movement  of  the  brilliant  narrative  of 
another  Revolution  in  Carlyle's  pages. 

These  are  not  the  only  passages  which  give  full  opportunity  to 
his  rich  descriptive  faculty  and  dramatic  talent  in  story  telling. 
The  terrible  death  of  two  gypsies,  tracked  and  treed  by  the 
wolves  of  the  endless  forests,  is  peculiarly  drastic;  it  is  so  livid 
that  we  close  our  eyes  with  a  shudder  to  avoid  viewing  the  tear- 
ing of  the  flesh  and  the  crunching  of  the  bones  in  our  presence. 

In  the  sore  hour  of  need,  and  almost  of  despair,  outcast  and 
fugitive  as  he  was,  he  was  tempted  to  turn  his  back  on  his 
country  and  betake  himself  to  Paris,  that  home  and  place  of 
refuge  for  so  many  infected  with  the  germs  of  Revolution. 
Even  should  he  come  out  with  his  life,  if  he  continued  to  write 
in  Hungary,  it  could  be  only  under  an  assumed  name;  and, 
indeed,  for  years  his  novels  and  articles  following  this  period 
were  all  signed  by  different  noms  de  plume.  Still  his  spirit  re- 
mained undaunted: 

If  I  live,  I  will  build  a  tower  out  of  the  ruins  of  my  country's 
glory ;  if  I  die,  my  grave  will  become  an  altar.  Vainly  does  this 
coward  flesh  of  mine  tremble  in  every  nerve.  I  am  neither  a  hero 
nor  a  giant.  The  report  of  a  gun  makes  me  tremble ;  I  grow  pale  in 
the  presence  of  death;  grief  draws  tears  from  me  —  but  I  will  not 
depart  from  my  set  path.  If  I  cannot  write  under  my  own  name,  I 
will  write  under  the  name  of  my  landlord's  dog.  I  will  be  "Saj6" 
[a  name  actually  employed].  We'll  bark  if  we  can't  speak,  but  well 
not  be  silent. 


262  THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS 

Truly,  a  noble  eloquence  arising  from  a  tortured  spirit  seeking 
utterance! 

But  the  thought  of  Paris  was  very  alluring  and  came  back  to 
his  fancy  again  and  again,  and  he  could  not  readily  shake  it  off: 

To  become  a  great  French  writer!  To  be  raised  aloft  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  most  glorious  of  nations !  What  here  at  home  was 
but  the  crack  of  a  whip  in  my  hands,  would  there  be  a  thunderbolt ! 

And  he  continues: 

Ah!  what  a  different  man  I  should  have  become.  Had  I  fled,  I 
should  now  be  the  grand  master  of  the  Realists,  for  there  is  as  much 
erotic  flame,  satiric  vein,  and  luxurious  fancy  in  me  as  in  them;  but  I 
have  not  used  these  qualities  because  I  write  for  a  Hungarian  public. 
Had  I  flown,  millions  would  have  read  my  works,  and  fathers  and 
mothers  would  have  cursed  me  as  the  corruptor  of  their  children. 
And  I  should  have  laughed  at  them,  and  tapped  the  fat  paunch,  which 
as  an  idealistic  writer  I  have  never  been  able  to  acquire. 

It  was  by  his  wife's  intervention  and  by  a  fiction,  as  told 
here,  that  Jdkai  was  at  last  enabled  to  escape  and  to  return  to 
Pest.  She  succeeded  in  securing  for  him  a  passport;  for,  when 
the  Komorn  garrison  capitulated  and  the  officers  were  guaran- 
teed life  and  liberty,  a  friend  wrote  Jdkai's  name  in  the  list  of 
capitulating  lieutenants,  and  handed  the  passport  bearing  his 
name  to  his  wife. 

His  life  was  at  first  very  quiet  and  naturally  so,  since  he  was 
still  under  police  supervision.  His  work  was  that  of  the  journa- 
list and  editor,  but  only  possible  under  various  assumed  names. 
One  of  these,  for  a  while,  was  "Kakas  Martin"  (Martin 
Cock).  "Eh!  what  a  popular  man  I  was  then!  There  were 
Kakas  Martin  clays,  with  bowls  in  the  shape  of  cock-headed 
men.  I  really  was  in  the  mouth  of  the  nation  in  those  days. 
O  tempi  passati." 

When  one  political  sheet  would  come  to  grief,  immediately 
another  would  spring  up  to  take  its  place.  There  might  be 
a  nominal  publicly  advertised  and  responsible  editor,  but  Jdkai 
was  really  the  mouthpiece  and  ruling  genius.  And  it  was  not 
play  besides,  not  to  speak  of  its  dangers,  for  it  was  a  life  of 
incessant  unsparing  work,  with  little  rest  and  recreation.  This 
sort  of  thing  was  more  than  he  could  stand,  and  he  broke  down, 


THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS  288 

seized  with  a  hemorrhage.  This  was  in  the  year  1858,  and  the 
ill  symptoms  were  only  cured  by  five  or  six  hours'  daily  exercise 
in  the  saddle  in  a  bold  expediton  of  some  weeks'  duration  to  the 
Western  Carpathian  Alps. 

Owing  to  journalistic  indiscretion,  our  author  also  was  to 
experience  the  confinement  of  a  prison.  It  was  the  story  of 
Leigh  Hunt's  imprisonment  repeated.  His  stay  indoors  was 
one  of  the  brightest  and  most  restful  episodes  in  his  life.  He 
made  a  cosy  home  for  himself  inside  the  walls,  and  worked  away 
steadily  except  when  interrupted  by  the  pretty  steady  flow  of 
visitors.  Indeed,  he  was  forced  to  beg  his  jailor  for  solitary 
confinement  from  them. 

He  became  further  and  further  engrossed  in  the  questions  and 
movements  of  the  day.  The  cause  of  letters  suffered ;  he  even 
intimates  that  his  home  suffered  before  this  all-demanding 
goddess,  Politica. 

But  we  have  portrayed  enough  of  the  man  as  drawn  in  his 
own  pages,  and  there  is  no  candid  expression  of  a  man's  past 
feelings  and  purposes  that  has  not  a  peculiar  charm,  all  its  own. 
We  have  seen  him  a  man  of  letters,  a  journalist,  a  political 
leader,  and  later  he  became  a  member  of  Parliament  for  the 
National-Liberals;  among  more  recent  honors,  he  is  fellow  of 
the  Royal  Academy  of  Sciences  in  Hungary,  and  President  of 
the  Petofi  Society,  and  has  of  late  been  elected  an  honorary 
member  of  the  International  Literary  Congress  at  a  session  held 
in  London.  Despite  his  fifty  years'  service,  he  is  still  working, 
in  his  desire  to  complete,  while  he  yet  lives,  what  may  prove 
to  be  the  Hungarian  national  songs  of  the  Niebelungen.  Here 
we  will  leave  him,  still  dreaming  of  his  country  and  seeking  to 
put  into  expression,  as  best  he  may,  the  essence  of  the  thought 
and  aspiration  and  character  of  his  native  tongue  and  land. 

Perhaps  we  ought  to  have  spoken  more  of  the  wonderful  vigor 
of  his  work  and  the  inimitable  charm  and  lightness  of  his 
narrative  —  particularly,  of  the  alluring  attractiveness  of  his 
heroine,  Bessy.  She  is  the  leading  figure  in  the  volume  con- 
sidered as  a  novel,  and  it  was  a  happy  and  genuine  artistic  touch 
to  tell  much  of  the  story  in  her  words.     In  any  other  way,  our 


264  THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN  LETTERS 

minds  would  possibly  have  dwelt  more  upon  the  improbabilities 
of  the  recital  and  not  so  much  upon  its  intense  delightfulness. 
In  this,  as  in  other  points  of  narrative  style,  Jdkai  actively  recalls 
the  charm  of  our  late  ill-fated  prince  of  narrators,  Mr.  Robert 
Louis  Stevenson,  whose  "New  Arabian  Nights"  are  hardly 
more  fantastic  and  fascinating  than  many  of  Jdkai's  fancies. 
The  author's  personality  hovers  over  all.  That  he  writes  rap- 
idly, we  feel  from  the  glow;  that  he  never  blots  his  own  pages 
is,  perhaps,  also  in  evidence  —  possibly  unfortunately  so  —  for  he 
has  unquestionably  often  written  unwisely  and  too  much. 

And  what  of  Bessy?  incomparable,  high-spirited  Bessy,  who 
had  five  husbands,  and  was  surely  so  delightful  and  irresistible 
she  could  have  found  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  as  many  more, 
had  not  the  fifth,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Wife  of  Bath  (and  the 
fifth  one  too,  in  both  instances,  smacking  somewhat  of  clerical- 
ism) proved  fatal.  A  certain  resemblance  Mr.  Bain,  the  trans- 
lator, has  already  found  between  her  and  "that  other  delightful 
and  original  rogue  in  romance,"  the  lady  who  becomes  Mrs. 
Desborough  in  Mr.  Stevenson's  "Dynamiter."  They  both  can 
tell  such  enchanting  and  thrilling  adventures  and  apparently, 
too,  love  so  warmly  and  devotedly!  And  someone  else  — a 
friend  in  reading  —  has  suggested  what  English  heroine  is  there 
so  like  Bessy  in  her  fascination,  and  who  wrought  such  havoc 
and  ended  even  so  miserably,  as  Beatrix  Esmond?  The  lively 
heroine  animates  so  vividly  and  intensely  the  pages  of  this 
book,  that  we  almost  resent  having  our  picture  disarranged  and 
our  fancies  mentally  dissected  by  the  matter-of-fact  information 
hinted  at  in  the  closing  chapter,  that  the  author  happened  upon 
her  in  visiting  a  house  of  correction  for  women  trespassers,  and 
there  the  original  stood  before  him,  and  thus  the  tale  became 
told! 

We  can  now  better  understand  how  Jdkai  has  been  called 
the  Dumas  of  Hungary.  As  an  exception  to  all  other  con- 
temporaneous literatures  —  French,  Italian,  and  Spanish ;  Ger- 
man, Hollandish,  and  Scandinavian;  Slavonic,  and  English  and 
American,  too,  in  their  latest  developments  —  the  novel  of 
adventure  and   humor  is  still  popular  in   Hungary,   and  rich 


THE  NESTOR  OF  HUNGARIAN   LETTERS  28fi 

exuberance  of  fancy  and  of  language  is  still  permitted.  With 
an  historic  past  close  behind  her  people,  the  spirit  engendered 
therefrom  has  fostered  their  romantic  temperament.  This  spirit 
is  clearest  seen  in  Maurus  Jdkai.  He  is  virtually  the  creator  of 
the  Hungarian  novel,  and  as  has  been  intimated,  has  written 
near  a  library  full.  His  translator,  the  biographer  and  trans- 
lator, too,  of  Hans  Christian  Andersen,  thus  characterizes  him : 
"He  possesses  a  gorgeous  fancy,  an  all-embracing  imagination, 
and  a  constructive  skill  unsurpassed  in  modern  fiction;  but  his 
most  delightful  quality  is  his  humor,  a  humor  of  the  cheeriest, 
heartiest  sort,  without  a  single  soufton  of  ill-nature  about  it,  a 
quality  precious  in  any  age,  and  doubly  so  in  an  overwrought, 
supercivilized  age  like  our  own." 

For  ten  years  after  the  Revolution  Hungarian  literature  was 
nearly  extinct;  all  the  old  forces  had  become  scattered  and 
annihilated.  Almost  alone  Jdkai  created  a  new  literature.  He 
betook  himself  to  fiction  when  political  journalism  failed.  Here 
was  the  great  misfortune  from  the  point  of  view  of  literary  art. 
When  a  man  does  so  much  and  such  varied  work,  a  good  deal  of 
it  is  bound  to  be  inferior.  But  his  wealth,  as  has  been  sug- 
gested, springs  from  sheer  exuberance,  and  it  is  not  a  mark  of 
exhaustion. 

And  should  we  ask,  in  the  end,  what  are  the  author's  own 
thoughts  as  to  the  spirit  which  has  animated  this  work,  the 
answer  comes  clear:  It  is  the  re-dedication  of  self  to  a  life  of 
letters ! 

And  now,  too,  when  I  stand  before  the  big,  silly  bookcase,  which  is 
filled  with  nothing  but  my  own  works,  I  often  think,  would  it  not  have 
been  better  if  they  had  none  of  them  been  ever  thought  out?  And 
instead  of  writing  so  much  for  the  whole  world,  would  it  not  have  been 
better  if  I  had  written  for  my  own  private  use,  just  so  much  as  would 
go  within  the  inside  cover  of  a  family  Bible?  Nowadays,  a  whole 
street  in  my  native  town  is  called  after  my  name :  would  it  not  have 
been  better  if  all  I  had  there  were  a  simple  hut  ? 

But  nol  I  willed  it  so,  and  if  it  were  possible  for  me  to  go  back  to 
the  diverging  cross-roads  of  my  opening  life,  I  would  tread  once 
more  in  the  self-same  footprints  that  I  have  left  so  long  behind  me. 


DAY    AND    TO    $,  00    om    J*  °N  ™E  FOURTH 
OVERDUE.  "-00    °N    ™E    SEVENTH    dI? 


156 


\    LIBRA! 


